BY GEORGE 0. 
HOLBROOKE 




Class:? 5-5 5)5 

Book ,6^^ t/3 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 



•«Y 



GEORGE O. HOLBROOKE 



^^'W' 

% 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
835 BROADWAY, MANHATTAN 



LIBRARY of C0N6RESS 
Two Copies Received 

FEB 15 1906 

<^CoD^rtffht EnfrY- ^ 






Copyright, 1905, 



GEORGE 0. HOLBROOKE. 



All Rights Reserved. 



^ 

^ 

'o 
H 

Q. 

^ 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Monday Morning 1 

Pulvis et Umbra 2 

Leyden 4 

Dabunt Malum 6 

Their Appointed Time 7 

Trinity Chimes 8 

Asphalt 9 

The Cataloguer '. 11 

Trinity Church 13 

Scandinavian Gospel 14 

Torre Quemada (The T?urnt Tower) 15 

St. Patrick's Day 15 

Ivan the Terrible 16 

Brooklyn Bridge 18 

Islam ". 19 

The Cathedral of Peter ajid Paul 20 

Raking the Leaves 22 

Royal ' Wine 22 

Grape Gathering 24 

Mainz 25 

Pere La Chaise 2G 

I Piombi 27 

Bielo Ozero 28 

Cheap 29 

The Whip-Saw 29 

Silence 31 

"A Virtuous Woman" 33 

Antwerp 34 

Dusty 35 

The Laws of the Game 37 

St. Malo 39 



iv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The White Thmie 40 

The Shell Pxoad 42 

Psyche 4,j 

Pilate 4;; 

Indian Summer 48 

"'^^ dr.n<; a'th p'\ 50 

The Brain 54 

Sleep Song 55 

Where ? 57 

Santa Lucia 58 

Louis Quinze 59 

Ranz des Vaehcs CO 

The Name of the Tune (31 

Portage G2 

Garlands 63 

Rest 64 

Voices of the Ni^ht 65 

Central Park 66 

The Bowery 68 

The Breeze 6!) 

Fistula Americana 71 

Sleep and Death 72 

The Song of the Saw 72 

Fortune's Wheel 73 

An Evening Party 75 

The Corn '. 77 

The Clinic 7!) 

The Eve of Salamis 81 

The Pillar of Fire 85 

The Old School Days 87 

Western Athens 8!» 

Perfume 91 

Michael Angelo 93 

Hotel Dieu 95 

Allegro Ma Non Troi^po 96 

Yankee Doodle \ 9!) 

The Symphony Concert 100 

The River 102 

Gazel of Hafiz 103 

Poplar Down 104 

Lafayette 105 

Antigone and Isuiene 108 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE 

Ferns 110 

Queenstown 112 

The Haunted Castle 113 

Cold Storage 115 

O Fons Bandusle 117 

The Fire 117 

The Bath 110 

The Music Box 121 

M. ]\r. H 127 

E. M. 127 

J. M. R 128 

H. B 128 

All Sn ints 129 

Sheshrqnin 129 

Sunt Lacrynise Benini 131 

Webster 133 

Treasure of the Xight 135 

Tsarskoe Selo 13(5 

Breeze and Calm 137 

Isaac Marshall 139 

Abner Crafts 141 



MONDAY MORNING. 

T^HE morning sun is shining along the gilded 
-■- street, 

The pavement is reechoing a thousand busy feet; 
And not a sorrow lingers where shadows gather 

brown, 
For all the boys and girls who work are coming 

into town. 

The office-buildings shoulder out the houses, in the 

row 
Where Knickerbockers lived in peace some eighty 

years ago; 
With tier on tier of eager life they surge on either 

hand, 
And piles of boxes block the way where coaches 

used to stand. 

There, where a house is coming down, you still 

can see the trace 
Of all the rooms and parlors that used to fill the 

place — 
'Twas here the parson blessed the pair, and there 

a mother cried. 
And there the sister knelt in prayer beside the 

saint who died. 



2 VERSES. 

A pile of granite palaces is rising in their stead, 
And all the eyes that used to shine are numbered 

with the dead. 
The city's stream of myriad life pours on with 

tragic flow, 
And brings new hearts and souls instead of those 

we used to know. 

But in the east St. Saviour's stands, and lifts its 

hand on high, 
And casts upon the sweeping crowd a blessing from 

the sky — 
A patriarchal blessing, though office-buildings 

frown, 
For all the girls and boys who work are coming 

into town. 



PULVIS ET UMBRA. 

We met before the tenement; 

A gleam was on her lashes. 
And down the street the breezes sent 

The gleaning of ovir ashes. 

I see her still — the stately form, 
The bit of faded shawl ; 

Behind her rose the gathering storm 
And shook its threatening pall. 

A marble brow, dilated eyes 

Of clear celestial blue. 
As when the rainbow orbs the skies 

With depths of heavenly dew. 



V E E S E S . 

I know the wolf of gaiiut despair, 
The sullen stare of shame, 

The glint of hate, the glaze of care. 
And woes that have no name; 

I know the violets that dye 

The love-lorn maiden's cheeks — 

But, oh, the power of the eye 

That wakes through weary weeks. 

I saw the stranger, clearer light, 
And knew that he was dead: 

*^About the turning of the night. 
And all alone," she said. 

We sought again the naked stair. 

Each with an empty hod, 
And felt a presence with us there, 

A messenger of God. 

Oh, harvests of forsaken lives. 

Ghosts of forgotten fires: 
Faith in the infinite survives 

Where bleeding hope expires. 

Blow, winter winds, to cool that soul. 
And heal the reddened gashes: 

Powers of eternity control 
The fate of dust and ashes. 



V E E S E S . 



LEYDEN". 



The towers of Leyden rise 

Against the lurid skies 
Like a company of melancholy ghosts, 

And the cursed Spanish heel 

Has drawn its line of steel 
Around them, with its banners and its hosts. 

Every citizen you meet 

On the bleak, deserted street 
Is so hungerbit, it's pitiful to tell; 

And the women there, who cower 

In each cellar and each tower, 
Dread the Spanish as they dread the beasts of hell. 

Every watchman there, who calls 

To his fellow, on the walls, 
Has a voice that sounds like funeral bells that ring; 

For the dragon coiled below 

Is a very cunning foe, 
And is setting all his talons for a spring. 

Every foot of Holland soil 

Has been reddened by the toil 
Of the heading-axe that hacks its holy sod; 

Every foot is black with coals 

That have sent the tortured souls 
A-shrieking from the fire up to God. 

The only Dutchmen now 
Are the men who man the bow 
Of the ships that come a-floating on the tide; 



VERSES. 6 

And every dyke that breaks 
Is the spring the lover makes. 
As he leaps across the fire to his bride. 

But every dyke is lined 

By the hosts they have combined 
With the gold that's sweated out of Cuban slaves ; 

The martial Genoeses 

And the bitter Portugueses, 
Who are beating back the ocean and its waves. 

They've a long account to square 

With the herring-boaters there, 
The fisher laddies, hungry and forlorn 

The people from the isles 

Where nature never smiles. 
And where they talk of Egmont and of Horn. 

There are men from western Flanders, 

And a fleet of the Ostranders, 
And the Frieslanders are tacking down the shore; 

There are Sturtevanters there. 

To steer the wind, I swear, 
There are Eoosevelts and Stuyvesants galore. 

There'll be a storm, to-night. 

That will make the surges white. 
And there never is a dyke that will abide; 

For the gulls are flying low, 

In the faces of the foe. 
And God Almighty's stirring up the tide. 



V E K S E S 



DABUNT MALUM. 

"Very clever, so they say, 
Very bright and very clever; 

Poet Naevius' latest lay 
Eings as lustily as ever. 

"Verses flashing down the street, 
Clinking in the plashing fountain 

Where the charcoal-sellers meet, 
Coming from the Sabine mountain. 

"All the baker's boys repeat them, 
And the lentil-seller's daughter 

Lifts her pretty hands and beats them 
Chanting, as she draws the water. 

"Brightly flitting, off they fly. 
Like the idle winter's swallows. 

Seeking the Surrentine skies 
Over the Campagna's fallows.'* 



"Mischief-making, bitter words, 
Idly railing at his betters, 

Cutting sharp like whetted swords, 
Clanking shrill like brazen fetters, 

"Mocking at our ancient fame, 
Waxen masks and annals hoary. 

Will he seek to dim the name 
Of the clan in Koman story? 



VERSES. 

'^eary, wandering, far away, 
Empty pouch and empty belly, 

We shall hear what he will say, 
When he thinks of the Metelli. 

"Metaphors return to roost, 
Haunting like forgotten curses. 

We shall hear old Naevius boast. 
When he reads Metellic verses." 



THEIR APPOINTED TIME. 

Lengthening still, the arms of night 
Fold around our northern world; 

Summer's radiant robe of light 
To the southern pole is whirled. 

Keener raptures fill the air. 

Anthems through the forest peal; 

Heaven's archers now prepare 
Swifter shafts of bluer steel. 

Seek, birds, a milder clime; 

Seek your bowers of winter bliss; 
Swift the changeful summer-time 

On revolving globes like this. 

Some of you can still remember 
Crystal joys as keen as these. 

When the pulses of September 

Thrilled the sobbing chestnut-trees; 



V E E S E S . 

And a clearer voice than reason 
Fills each eager callow breast : 

'^Eise, and greet the appointed season; 
Eise ; this world is not your rest. 

"Else upon the ether's surges, 

While the shortening sunbeams smile; 
Nature's mildest mandate urges, 

Seek the blooming tropic isle.'* 



TEINITY CHIMES. 

Old Trinity was striking one, 
And darkness ruled the street 

^A^lich flashes in the morning sun, 
When man and mammon meet. 

The office-buildings soared on high. 

The shadows slept below, 
Save where the strip of star-lit sky 

Watched the electric glow. 

A lonely figure wandered there 
And knocked at every door, 

Still turning, with a fruitless care. 
Each corner to explore. 

A puzzled eye, a flushing cheek, 

A doublet — yes, in sooth, 
"Twas Knickerbocker, come to seek 

The comrades of his youth. 



VERSES. 

And strange Dutch words and gestures told 

The depth of his despair. 
"Where is the wijnkoep, where they sold 

The draughts of Khenish rare? 

"Where is the stoep of Rip van Dam, 

Where cronies met together, 
To hear the news from Amsterdam 

And ask the price of leather? 

"The wall is gone, the Indians fled, 

The fort has passed away. 
Are Hendrick, Jans and Joris dead? 

Their children — where are they?" 

And up he looked, and then looked down:— • 
"The Kat'skills have moved into townT' 



ASPHALT. 



The smoke of seething asphalt is on the street 

to-day, 
As if a new Gomorrah were blazing on Broadway, 
And sooty forms, like demons, with blazing irons 

stalk. 
To make the roadway smoother for women's feet to 

walk. 

Tlie smoke of burning grasses is on the Asian plain, 
But behind it come the wagon-tops of all the Aryan 
train ; 



10 V E E S E S . 

In front the thorn-bush crackles and the thistle's 
flag IS furled, 

But behind it spread the pastures that feed a hun- 
gry world. 

The fagots on the Plaza have been sweetened up 

with oil, 
For blessed Torquemada has got some Jews to 

broil. 
There are thousands more to follow, while the 

southern heavens smile, 
To wear the robe of torture and to climb the bitter 

pile. 

But there's pitch and tar in Cadiz that will burn 

with louder roar 
When England fires the signal and Drake comes 

down the shore; 
There are bolts in heaven's arsenal and blasts upon 

the seas 
To drive the great armada beyond the Hebrides. 

The stakes are set by Balliol and crowds block ^^p 

the road. 
For Latimer and Eidley shall burn, to-day, for 

God, 
And all of Oxford's bells must toll, and all the 

organs ring, 
To tell the prudent righteousness of England's 

Spanish king. 

But a beacon has been liglited, and a whirlwind is 
begun, 

That will bear the spark of British thought be- 
yond the setting sun ; 



V E E S E S . 11 

For all the darkness of men's hearts and all that 

the)" desire, 
Must be tested by the furnace and be salted by the 

fire. 

There are flames that scorch and blacken, there are 

flames that guide and bless, 
The pillar leads the Hebrew host through all tlie 

wilderness, 
And Gideon's smoking torches, in earthen vessels 

stored. 
Shall flash upon the midnight sky the glory of tlie 

Lord. 



THE CATALOGUER 

Poor pen — your life's short race is run 

As far as I can task it; 
In recompense for service done 

I'll throw you in the basket. 

Good pen — at first you were a queen- 
As tough, and bright, and limber 

As rushes green, and sweet sixteen, 
And ten-year hickory timber. 

You waded through the weary mire 

Of longest pagination; 
Imprint and foot-note could not tire 

Your personal equation. 



13 V E E R E S . 

You took to Grepk. and would not squeak 

At Svv-edish, Dutch or Latin, 
But made the title-pages speak 

In words as soft as satin. 

Ink, black and blue ! the same to yon. 

Whatever my hand was seeking, 
Until you tried the copying brew, 

And then you took to creaking. 

You'll meet the end good pens desire 

Beyond this room's disaster, 
And, purged by a renewing fire, 

May find a better master. 

Poor body — you were lissome, too, 

So merry and so willing, 
You'd play and frisk, as young folks do. 

Although the pace wa.s killing. 

But now the prison of rheumatism 
Has stopped your sport and caper, 

And tired ej^es must have a prism 
To see the print on paper. 

Soon you'll be pressed on earth's soft breast, 

And, if it's fo.'v to ask it, 
I hope you'll find a quiet rest 

Beyond earth's emptied basket. 



VERSES. 13 



TRINITY CHURCH. 

Some one threw telegraphic waste 

From windows in the night, 
And Trinity's grave elms were laced, 

Next day, with strips of white. 

Each sparrow took its shares of stocks 

To line a downy nest, 
Love messages, like fairies' locks. 

Fell on each dead man's breast. 

The church bore tidings to the town 

Upon its fingers taper, 
And old John Watts's metal gown 

Bloomed out afresh in paper. 

But Where's the rest ? What tide of space 
Has borne the grave, the tender, 

The hopeful thoughts which lightnings trace 
To speed them for the sender? 

Toll out, great chimes of deathless doom, 

Above the Sunday street. 
For human prayer there still is room, 

Where man and heaven meet. 

Though many a faint, despairing thought 

Upon the tombstones lie. 
The rest by airy hands are caught. 

And wafted to the sky. 



14 V E E S E S . 

SCANDINAVIAN GOSPEL. 

The old Norwegians wondered how 

The pillars of the earth could bow ; 

They asked what tides through heaven run; 

What spell commands the midnight sun; 

And so they told how Thor went out 

To spy the universe about. 

He left the land of sun and flowers. 

And, armed with his creative powers, 

He took the hammer in his hand, 

And wandered into Chaos land. 

He found what giant forms there are. 

Whose roof-tree is the polar star; 

He felt fierce Hecla's scathing breathy 

Like men he felt the hug of death ; 

When Outer-Darkness showed its eyes, 

He gripped the monster like a vise. 

Then the great orbing planet swerved, 

The whole ecliptic bent and curved, 

The frozen hosts of horror fled, 

And midnight hid its vanquished head. 

Men's heroes, with the spoils they've won, 

Newton, and Watt, and Edison 

Have lion hearts and eye of lynx. 

To conquer nature's subtle sphinx, 

And force the powers of earth to give 

The bread and hope by which we live. 

Plain, common men, like you and me, 

Have something still to do and see. 

We'll love our work, and rest, and play; 

We'll face the sunrise day by day, 

And when we've drained earth's mingled cup. 

We'll take the midgard serpent up. 



V E E S E S . 15 

TORRE QUEMADA. 

(The Burnt Tower.) 

See the Moorish torches leap ! 

Hear the shrieking ladies' bower! 
Spanish curses, fierce and deep, 

Echo from the burning tower. 

Long the blackened ruin stood. 
Name and emblem of a race — 

Torquemada, word of blood, 
Branded on a nation's face. 

Heritage of deathless hate, 

Fierce revenge, religious strife. 
Worm that gnawed Castilian state 

At the heart of Spanish life. 

Let no watchword such as this, 

No such memories be ours; 
May the dews of heaven kiss 

Mosses on our ruined towers. 



ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 

True to the heart of the saint who had tasted 

Bitterest dregs in the cup of the slave ; 
Following fast in his steps as he hasted, 

Seeking the perishing over the wave; 
Sons of St. Patrick, a glorious nation, 

Winning their heritage under the sun. 
Bear in their bosom the hope of creation, 

Bear on their banner the cross that he won; 



16 VERSES. 

Fightino^ the battles of freedom and honor, 
Building the railroad and sailing the ship. 

True to old Ireland, blessings upon her ! 
A glint in the eye and a song on the lip. 

Sarsfields still true to the lilies that shield them, 

Sheridans bearing the stars of the west, 
Sabres that flash in the hands that can wield them, 

Hearts of the lightest and souls of the best. 
Hark ! it's the voice of sweet Goldsmith that's sing- 
ing; 

Hark ! it's the magic j\Ioore s melody flings ; 
Hark ! it's the voice of a Burke that is ringing — 

Pro})hets of righteousness, liberty's kings. 
Hail to the sons of the saint who still guides them, 

Seeking the triumph of Christendom's right ! 
Here in the west a new Erin abides them, 

Crowning the earth with its kingdom of light. 



IVAN" THE TERRIBLE. 

The frozen sky is cobalt-blue, 

The clouds float sadly off, 
The Moscow men stand, grim and gray, 

Before the towers of Pskoff, 
And Ivan bites his withered lip — 

To-day shall surely bring 
The eagle of his fell revenge, 

With blood upon its wing. 
"Xo quarter" is the given word; 

In this fraternal strife 
Whoever saves a soul in Pskoff 

Shall surely lose his life. 



VERSES. 17 

A black cowl towers above the crowd. 

The household troops bow low 
To Nicholas, the hermit monk, 

Who never feared a foe ; 
Unshod he treads the cutting ice, 

Nor feeds on mortal fare — 
The fiercest saint who trusts his God, 

And breathes the Russian air. 
■"Hail, father, hail !" "All hail, my liege I 

Hail, comrades from the east ! 
I bring my blessing to your board. 

My tribute to your feast." 
"What, father, flesh? Raw, bleeding flesh? 

What ! flesh in holy Lent ? 
Such food shall never pass my lips, 

Pollute my royal tent !"' 
"Meet meat for thee, thou devil's son I 

Let kings remember well 
That he M'ho eats the hearts of men 

Shall keep his Lent in hell." 
The monarch's beard falls on his breast. 

The monarch's brow bends low — 
He sees the site of Novgorod 

A waste of trackless snow. 
He sees the tortured, stiffened forms. 

That in the snow-drifts rest — 
The mother by her blackened hearth, 

The baby at her breast ; 
And ghosts of horrors yet to be 

Before his conscience run, 
He sees his blood-stained staff of steel 

That slays his only son. 
The boyars clutch their heavy swords. 

And watch, with bated breath, 



18 VERSES. 

The sweat upon that wrinkled brow 

Doomed to an evil death. 
The monarch's word sounds hoarse and low. 

The roofs of Pskoff are free; 
The tidings sweep across the land, 

They greet the frozen sea ; 
And still, in huts of blackened fir 

Beneath the polar star, 
Men praise the mighty monk of old 

Who tamed the awful Czar. 



BROOKLYIsT BRIDGE. 

Like flashing eyes the torches glow, 
Where land and water meet, 

And lamps in bright procession flow 
Through each untrodden street. 

Shadows of pinnacle and tower 
Fall where the city broods, 

Alley and sullen courtyard cower, 
Like dells in deepest woods. 

The sea of roofs extends, the same. 

O'er many a happy home, 
O'er dens of shame that bear no name 

And halls where angels roam. 

In silence far, each white-robed star 

Its deathless vigil keeps, 
And spirits bear to heaven's bar 

The harvest heaven reaps. 



V E E S E S . 19 

Is it a rose that stains the sky. 

Or a dying sinner's blood? 
The swift reply to earth's keen crj^ 

Or the day-spring's healing flood? 

The incense of the mist-cloud soars 

To meet the quickening ray ; 
The world's dark soul bows and adores. 

And waits the perfect day. 



ISLAM. 



See the mighty Haj proceeding 
From the fair Damascus gate. 

With the Pasha's camel leading — 
"Allah akbar! God is great!" 

Past each palm and fairy garden, 
Past the mosque's protecting walls, 

Where the note of heaven's pardon 
In the muezzin's summons falls. 

"Lebanon is far above us, 

Kobed in folds of virgin snow; 

God is near to help and love us. 
Guide, protect us as we go. 

"Southward far the prophet calls us, _ 
Here our loved ones pray and wait; 

Life, nor death, nor hell appals us; 
Allah akbar ! God is great !" 



20 V E K S E S . 

— Still the great procession's wending, 

Underneath a crystal sky, 
North and south are sands unending, 

Fire on earth and fire on high. 

"Let him rest where he is sleeping, 
Where no giaour's foot has trod, 

In the desert's holy keeping; 
He has made his Peace with God. 

"Not a jackal to molest him, 

Not a vulture in the sky ; 
In his sacred robe invest him. 

Thus may each believer die. 

"Here the choir of angels calms him. 
Chanting their eternal lay; 

Here the wild simoon embalms him. 
Drifting till the Judgment Day. 

"Onward still the Prophet calls us, 
Bearing each his solemn fate ; 

Life, nor death, nor hell appals us; 
Allah akbar ! God is srreat !'' 



THE CATHEDEAL OF PETER AND PAUL. 

Fair Nature chose her brightest hour, 

Her clearest sight, serenest power, 

The noblest Russian blood that ran — 

Wrought them, and said: "Behold, a man!" 

No age nor ages could repeat her 

Great work. ^len claimed their king in Peter. 



V E E S E S . 21 

iEons of Asian darkness fled 
At his command; swift, swifter sped 
The hands of Time's resounding clock. 
Freed from the brazen clogs that mock 
Our human efforts; like a dream 
Bright Science rose by Neva's stream, 
While, with his mighty fingers, he 
Traced realms and worlds that were to be. 

— A mother's tragic will behind 
A father's narrow, darkened mind. 
Earth paused in all its toil to ask: 
"What is this ghastly, bodeful mask?" 
Phantoms of grim disaster dance 
Beside his path, and at his glance 
Wife, children shudder; subjects fall 
In abject terror. Such was Paul. 
At last the world rebelled; a blow 
From desperate vassals laid him low. 

He sleeps beside the flooding river, 
Where frozen ages wait and shiver, 
Beneath the heaven-piercing spire, 
With murdress mother, murdered sire. 
Petropaulovsk ! the chosen fane 
Of Time's hereditary reign, 
At whose command and with whose sigh. 
The strongest, weakest, live and die. 
Else, holy Russia ! with thy view, 
Cleared by sweet tears of heaven's dew; 
Place human conscience, reason, fate, 
On mighty Peter's throne of state. 



23 VERSES. 

RAKING THE LEAVES. 

The leaves are falling from the trees, 

Dead as forgotten sins. 
And still, to sound of autnmn breeze, 

Sweet Nature sings and spins. 

She spins the thread unchanging 
That saddened memory weaves, 

While the sun's bright shuttle, ranging. 
Wakens Australian leaves. 

The tendercst hopes that met the dawn 
Where April's shadows la}^, 

The gems of light that lit the lawn 
Beneath the eye of May, 

The brooding love of summer bowers 
That watched the ripening fruit 

Are mingled in the russet showers, 
Beside the ancient root. 

Yet Nature fills her deathless bowl, 
Nor e'er, despairing, grieves, 

And unborn summers cheer the soul 
Of those who rake the leaves. 



ROYAL WINE. 



Charles the Fifth has sailed from Cadiz 

Over the Atlantic tide, 
Noble knights and lovely ladies 

Resting at his gracious side. 



V E E S E S . J 

Castanets and lute Castilian 

Teach the notes that lovers learn. 

While the blue and gold pavillion 
Flutters on the lofty stern. 

See ! the monarch's eyes have rested 

On the hideous forward bench 
Where the slaves, in toil detested, 

Eow in the eternal stench. 

Never kindly face to see them 

Underneath that brazen sky, 
Only death and hell to free them, 

Sharks to eat them when they die. 

Stripped and shaven, tanned and branded. 
Starting eyes that stare and shine — 

"Give them," so the king commanded, 
"Eoyal draughts of royal wine !" 

Golden wine in golden beakers 
Flows to cheer the demon crew; 

Wine, at last, has made them speakers. 
How they shout, Great Charles, for you ! 

On the shores by legend haunted, 

On the Andalusian waves. 
Mariners for ages chanted 

How the emperor treated slaves. 

Toilers in the modern city, 

Sweat-shop toilers, stripped and peeled, 
Find no cup of earthly pity. 

Find no drausfht that love has healed 



24 V E E S E S . 

Till the sea sends up its chalice, 
Winds of bliss that never tire. 

Fresh from Ocean's beryl palace. 
Cooling every brow of fire. 

Sleep and comfort, food and pleasure. 
In the magic draught combine; 

When the billows grant their treasure. 
And the heaven pours out its wine. 



GEAPE GATHEEING. 

The garden trellis raises 

Its vine-clad hands on high, 
With meed of balmy praises 

For the gifts of the summer sky. 

The mold that shrines a million leaves, 
The fragrant breath of dawn, 

The bowers that radiant summer weaves. 
The gems by autumn worn. 

The eye of heaven, serene and kind, 

The sphere's eternal sliapc 
Are mirrored in the downy rind 

That clasps the perfect grape. 

The burning lip of the evening sky. 
This purple Concord kissed 

With the starry sapphire's gleaming dye, 
And the light of the amethyst. 



VERSES. 25 

Amber Niagaras show the dew 

The star of morning brings; 
Catawbas mock each rainbow hue 

On the flying storm-clouds^ wings. 

Delicious air, that fill'st the lip 

Of the mountains' violet bowl. 
The nectar that the spirits sip. 

The world's transparent soul — 

Still make our hearts rejoice and shine. 

When winter's winds are drear, 
And let the glow of Nature's wine 

Live on from year to year. 



MAINZ. 



Against the dewy sky the sunset's fingers 

Array the vine-clad hills in darkening lines. 
A royal cloud of purple radiance lingers 

Above the crowning towers of' stately Mainz. 
Calm is the glow, the step of night is steady, 

The lamps begin to gleam with mystic shine, 
The might of Alpine snows, forever ready. 

Is flooding swift along the noble Rhine. 

The minster's chimes, in full, mysterious numbers, 

Float o'er the city, from the cloisters wide 
Where many a knight in stony armor slumbers 

With hosts of great companions at his side. 
Fair Nature's hand with freshest turf is dressing 

The mound above their heads ; her tapers burn 
To soothe their sleep, until, with morning blessing. 

Her feathered choristers in peace return. 



26 V E K S E S . 

On yonder moorland, where the ash tree towers, 

Where ancient spirits sternly, sadly roam, 
The dying Dnisns summoned all his powers 

To hail Tiberius, speeding swift from Eome. 
Too late, too late, for one to greet the other! 

The heart-beats slacken and the pulses chill. 
But still the memory of the noble brother 

Rests dark and solemn on the stately hill. 

Souls of the past, the glorious world protecting, 

From distant ages on our memories shine. 
The thoughts of love and duty still reflecting 

On the eternal current of the Rhine. 
Still shall our hearts dream of the former glory, 

Still hail the heroes with their deeds of gold. 
While the great river chants its solemn story 

And hastens to the ocean as of old. 



PLEE LA CHAISE. 

Tlie summer sun, so loth to set. 

Has lengthened out the hest of days, 

And glances over La Roquette 

To fall on peaceful Pere La Chaise. 

The heart of mighty Paris broods — 
A giant, murmuring in his sleep. 

Still dreaming of these holy woods. 
Where urns their marble vigils keep — 

God's great Westminster out-of-doors, 
The hero's and the sage's tomb. 

Where every leaf its incense pours 

Through long; arcades of fragrant bloom. 



VERSES. 37 

The ivy twines its garlands green, 

The cypress lifts its hands in prayer. 

The myrtle murmurs of Racine, 
The laurel whispers of Moliere. 

The echoes of a thousand Junes 

Ring over Gretry's tuneful rest, 
And linnets keep their sweetest tunes 

To calm Rossini's troubled breast. 

The twilight folds its dewy wings 
And watches Hugo's solemn cell; 

The evening star exults, and sings 
Of Arago, who knew it well. 

Then, when bright Hesperus has led, 
Zephyr returns through all the shades, 

And mystic foot-falls of the dead 

Come rustling down the darkening glades. 

While memory lingers in her shrine, 
I'll ne'er forget that violet haze — 

I'll see the star of evening shine. 
The sentinel of Pere La Chaise. 



I PIOMBI. 



0, the heat of the roof! 0, the stench of the cage! 
The blackness, the madness, the torment, the rage ! 
By day there is horror, at night there is dread, 
For God never comes to live under the lead. 



28 VERSES. 

There's a crucifix high in the tortiire-room low 
To mock every groan and to count every blow, 
There's a priest there to spy every word that is 

said; 
But God never comes to live under the lead. 

Outside there's the sun, and the stars, and the 

moon, 
And the boats that ride free on the distant lagoon, 
And the noondays are blue and the evenings are 

red ; 
But God never comes to live under the lead. 



BIELO OZEEO. 



White fire on the horizon burns. 

The forest glooms afar, 
The orbing world in silence turns 

To adore the Morning Star. 

He reins his heavenly steeds on high 

Their eager thirst to slake. 
And all the glory of the sky 

Flames in the peaceful lake. 

His flashing torch, inverted, beams 

Upon the water's breast ; 
The lingering old moon sadly dreams 

And fills the purpling west. 

Dear ]\Iemory, cease thy sweetest grief, 

And teach us, from afar. 
Quickening beneath the dawn's relief 

To reflect the Mornincr Star. 



VERSES, 29 

CHEAP. 

"He's only two and sixpence, sir, 

A rare good linnet for his age — - 
The mornings, I can hardly stir 

Before he's piping in the cage. 

"He only wants his bite of seed, 
A pinch of cress, and room to grow; 

He's never pining to be freed, 

Because he's blinded, sir, you know." 

Poor creature ! Milton's feathered mate. 

Instinct with the celestial spark. 
Beguiling days of hopeless fate 

With suns that shone before the dark. 

Poor souls ! in many a cheerless room, 
Toiling for that which others waste. 

Cheering their comrades in the gloom 
With dreams of joy they never taste. 

Poor spirits of mankind ! who wait 

Where gleams through starry windows flow. 

Nor beat their wings at heaven's gate. 
Because they're blinded, here, you know. 



THE WHIP-SAW. 

Sweet October's voice is calling, 
Sweet October's heart is red, 

Gay October's leaves are falling 
From the branches overhead. 



30 VERSES. 

Where the mighty logs are lying 
On their couch of damasked gold. 

Cheerily the saw is flying 
And the fate of logs is told ; 

Double hands to call and answer, 
Teeth of steel that bite and cry, 

While the saw, a merry dancer, 
Flashes sunbeams from the sky. 

'7/yw, sagana, sagen, sagen,* 

Echoing words of Aryan law ! 
Many an ancient churl and thegen 

Chanted sagas o'er the saw — 

Songs of dwarfs and elves beguiling. 

Songs of vikings, heaven led ; 
While great Master Olaf, smiling. 

Carved the fatal dragon head. 

Thus, from age to age, unheeding, 

Chanting generations go. 
While a wiser hand is speeding 

Kext year's sunbeams through the snow. 

* The Greek rj^oD appears to correspond to tl\« Ger- 
man sagen and s;i<;C'n {to say, to sav:). ns e^co does 
to siegen. The primitive idea of reciprocal notion de- 
veloped into that of antiplional chants and sacred 
formulsp before the division of the Indo Europeans; 
cf. fcartjxsco. saga, Segen. 



V E K S E S . 31 

SILENCE. 

The silence of the meadow ! when the sun has risen 

high 
And the clouds are floating languidly across a per- 
fect sk};. 
When the birds have ceased their morning pipe, 

and the morning breeze is still, 
When no poplar whitens in the vale or flashes on 

the hill. 
When the murmur of the mill-wheel scarce moves 

the moody sense 
And the monologue of insects makes the silence 

more intense, 
And through your closing eyelids you see some 

boys at play 
Who lived — a hundred years ago, a thousand miles 



awav 



The silence of the city ! when the window is ajar, 
And the rattle of a thousand wheels sounds like 

the sea afar. 
When the organ man is playing on such a distant 

street 
That his tune becomes a melody tliat sirens might 

repeat. 
And the movements of a million lives so close 

around you seem 
Like the half-forgotten fancy of a half-forgotten 

dream. 

The silence of the mountain ! when the earth is 

all at rest, 
And heaven folds the icy peaks upon its icy breast, 



32 VERSES. 

When the eagles circle far av/a}^ above the plains 

below, 
And the winter of the ages sleeps on the perfect 

snow, 
And there's not a sound to tell you of the great 

world's restless pain 
But the throbbing of old Adam's blood that's tliud- 

ding in your brain. 

The silence of the sick room ! wlicn the lamp is 

burning low, 
And you hear the ticking of the watch, and the 

mice that come and go. 
And the sharp staccato breathing of the one you 

love the best. 
And you think it's growing easier, and brings the 

needed rest. 
And you grudge the creaking of a board, and the 

watch-dog"s distant bay, 
And you wish the night were longer, and dread 

the noisy day. 

The silence of the church-yard ! when the clock 
has struck night's noon. 

And the owls have ceased their hooting in the full- 
ness of the moon. 

And the dew is beading <m the graves in drops 
that glitter fair. 

And the silent stars are setting in the gulfs of 
crystal air, 

And there's not an ear to hearken, and not an eve 
to see, 

And the nearest hearts are those that rest in the 
world that is to be. 



VERSES. 33 



"A VIRTUOUS WOMAN." 

The poet's girls are perfect, and it don't do to be 

rash, 
But the best of all the girls to me is the lady who 

takes the cash; 
She's good, and then she's sensible, her face is 

like the sun. 
And she has a thought for every soul except for 

number one. 

She's firm, though she's good-natured; she's wise, 
although she's kind ; 

The clerks must keep to business, and the cash- 
girls have to mind. 

But when the figures wont come out, as sometimes 
will befall. 

They take them up to Lizzie, and she sets them 
right for all. 

She always keeps a level head, and most so when 

she's pressed — 
The other girls will talk and fool, but she's not 

like the rest, 
Her hand must hold the pencil, and it can't be 

white as snow. 
But she's much like Solomon's lady that he praised 

so long ago. 

It's best of all for Lizzie when she goes home at 

night, 
And the boys will run from their work and fun 

to hail her footstep light: 



34 VERSES. 

It's "Lizzie!" here, and "Lizzie!" tliere, and, when 

tliey all have kissed her, 
Whoever has a joy or care must tell it to his 

sister. 

She isn't proud, but they're proud of her, and, 

whatever folks ijiay say. 
The one is best for wiiom tlie rest are watching 

all the day; 
And when she has children of her own, and this 

worh] is growing cold. 
They'll rise and call her blessed, as Solomon did 

of old. 



ANTWERP. 



As the silver fountain leaps 

Above the myrtle bower. 
So the heart of Antwerp sweeps 

In the glory of its tower 
To meet the blessed sky that beckons fair; 

The dayspring's golden wages 

And the tempest's noble rages 
Are the dower of the daughter of the air. 

When the evening silence falls 

As sweet as love divine. 
And the muffled organ calls, 

And the glory of the shrine 
Comes flashing out through every jewelled pane. 

Then the emperor's ancient bells 

Ring out the note that tells 
Of the passing of earth's splendors as they wane. 



V E E S E S . 35 

Every word of rapture spoken 

In the Antwerp of the past. 
The sobs of spirits broken 

By joys too keen to last, 
Have been garnered in the treasury of love; 

The dreams of saints and s;iges 

And the longings of the ages 
Come pealing in an anthem from above. 



Each quaintly gabled street 

Has its note of long ago, 
The roof-trees must repeat 

All the echoes that they know. 
There's a spell that rings from every darkened 
door ; 

And the heart of all the city 

Beats with tenderness and pity 
When the vesper music summons it once more. 

The heavenly power has bound you 

With its wings, behind, before. 
Beneath you, and around 3'Ou, 

Like the waves upon the shore, 
Like the wind that sways the forest in the night, 

And in vain you wander, seeking 

For the awful voice that's speaking, 
For the hand that clasps your spirit with its might. 

Thus, in our earthly city. 

There is breath of friend and foe. 
Of the wise, the strong, the witty. 

Of the ages as they flow. 



36 V E E S E S . 

Of the forces of the desert and the sky ; 
And we pass our life-time groping, 
Waiting, turning, watching, hoping 

For the voice that calls us softl}^ from on high. 

There are spirits in the air 

Who are listening, and yearn 
To answer back the prayer 

Of the lonely hearts that burn, 
Of the eyes that seek in vain to pierce the night ; 

And we just can hear them singing 

On their way, as they come winging 
Through earth's shadow from the universe of light. 



DUSTY. 



The August street was dusty and the crowd was 
moving fast, 

For the cloud that filled the western sky had grown 
too black to last, 

But just as twilight deepened there came a quiver- 
ing flash, 

And all the chords of Xature's harp seemed burst- 
ing in the crash. 

When the stormwind poised its surging wings and 
the silver stars looked down 

Silence and blackness held their feast in the de- 
serted town ; 

The very midnight held its breath, for it feared 
the stones would tell 

The legends of old Chaos, which the stones re- 
member well. 



VERSES. 37 

But where the crimson lamp-light fell on drip- 
ping walks below 

They flashed it back as clouds of rain flash back 
the deathless bow; 

Each flagstone turned to jasper, and had a ruby 
gleam, 

As if it stood in bonding gold beside a crystal 
stream. 

And the dark, polluted surface became the radiant 
floor 

Where feet of men can walk in peace, and saints 
have walked before. 

When the paths of life are dusty, and the hands 
of time move slow, 

And the wheels are growing rusty with the hours 
that come and go, 

There's a power in the darkness to shed life's choic- 
est wine; 

It sometimes takes a flush of tears to make the 
pavements shine. 



THE LAWS OF THE GAME. 

The pike in tlie river, the hawk in the sky. 
The moth that is drawn to the flame. 

The eagle that loses the glint of its eye. 
Must die, by the laws of the game. 

In ocean and eyrie, in forest and wave. 

The rule is forever the same. 
The beast that will live and the beast that will save 

Must submit to the laws of the game. 



38 V E K S E S . 

Though deep he may dive and though high he 
may soar, 

Though perfect the poise and the aim, 
'^I'he moment recurs, and existence is o'er 

By the laws of the terrible game. 

.''vnd what of the man whose existence is free. 

With treasures of reason and will, 
Has he force to encounter, and wisdom to see. 

And might to surmount and fulfil? 

Heredity dogs us, and blemishes balk, 

We err, and we stumble, and fail, 
.Vnd tragical figures of destiny stalk 

In the gloom of the terrible vale. 

Though wisdom may guide us, and friendship at- 
tend. 

Though fortune may favor the brave, 
There's a power unseen has appointed the end 

Of the king, and the sage, and the slave. 

There is only one force that is greater than fate. 
One power that insjnres our breath — 

The devotion that watches the home and the state, 
The love that is stronger than death. 

The joy of the martyr, the bliss of the cross, 
The faith that despises the shame. 

The hope that survives disappointment and loss, 
Are the prize of the infinite game. 



V E E S E S . 39 



ST. MALO. 

Tides of spring with power are swelling, 
Gra}' the sky, the clouds fly low. 

Out upon the dawn are knelling 
All the bells of St. Malo. 

Down along the wharves a column 

Of the fisher people glides. 
Where the steamer, black and solemn. 

On the flickering water rides. 

Stern they march with movement steady. 
Prayerful lips and sober ranks, 

Leaving blessed France, and ready 
For Newfoundland's fatal banks. 

Youthful eyes and maiden graces 
Gaze from countenance forlorn ; 

Wrinkled cares have marked the faces 
Of the mothers, sorrow-worn. 

Forth the pilgrim host are led, 
Seeking food across the wave. 

Winter fires and right to wed. 
Faithful hands and spirits brave ! 

Long the toilful summer's hours 

To the women left behind; 
Land to till with feeble powers. 

Fruit to garner, sheaves to bind. 



40 V E E S E S . 

Life's rewards are scant and few — 
Flickering heartli and humble shed^ 

Labor in the morning's dew, 
Breton cider, barley bread ; 

Silent prayers in twilight muttered, 
Quiet foot-falls at the shrine, 

Apprehensions, seldom uttered. 
When the sullen evenings shine; 

Practiced eyes that watch the dawnings, 
Watch the drifting clouds in motion; 

Patient hearts that count the mornings. 
Longing o'er the endless ocean. 

Loftier than the dreams of magic 
Lingering at the artist's gate 

Are the souls serene and tragic, 

Doomed to silence, trained to wait. 

]\Iay your gloomy northern ocean 
Catch the gleam of heaven's bow; 

Blessed be your stern devotion, 
Fisherfolk of St. Malo ! 



THE WHITE PLUME. 

There were plumes of white to wave 

O'er the helmet of the brave 

When the prp'^^^ of l)')ttle ringed him in the fray, 

And his noble steed arose 

Against the vail of foes 
As spirited and terrible as thej'. 



VERSES. 41 

There are plumes of white that glance 

O'er the beauty in the dance, 

When her merry eye is flashing in the light. 

And the echoing air is sweet 

With the rhythm of happy feet, 
And music fills the watches of the night. 

There are plumes of silver steam 

In the steady morning gleam 

Over railroad, and power-house, and mill, 

x\nd the dingy brick-work reels 

With the motion of the wheels. 
And the dingy forms inside are never still. 

They are sweating in the heat, 

The machine oil isn't sw'eet, 

And the cinders not poetical at all. 

But the world is vastly brighter 

For the patient furnace lighter 
Than for battle, or for tournament, or ball. 

There are loaves for those who need them. 
And books for those who heed them, 
(For the school-house bell is ringing on the 
street) ; 

There are comforts for the old. 

And fuel for the cold. 
And leather for the restless children's feet. 

The farmers all around 

Bring more buckwheat to be ground. 

And the cattle are increasing on the hill. 

And the list of advertising 

Shows that real estate is rising, 
And that carpenters are working with a will. 



42 V E E S E S . 

Tliere's romance and there's devotion 

In the ceaseless, steady motion 

Of the piston, and the belting, and the fly. 

And the steam of the condenser 

Is the incense of a censer 
To bear the prayers of workingmen on high. 

Long live the plume of steam, 

With its steady silver gleam. 

As radiant and useful as the day; 
May the morning's roses meet it, 
And the blue of heaven greet it. 

And the air of freedom speed it on its way. 



THE SHELL ROAD. 

Gaily ring the horses' feet 

On the roadway's shining reaches. 
While the ocean's pulses beat 

Softly on the southern beaches. 

Tall palmetto, fragrant bay, 
Myrtles, oaks and oleanders; 

Onward still the winding way 

Past the bluffs and copses M-anders. 

Shells, by countless millions, shells 
L^nderneath the horses' feet. 

Once the myriad roimded cells 
Of existence strange and sweet. 



VERSES. 43 

Mussel, coral, conch, and pearl, 

Xautilus and siar-fish gay. 
Purple volute, radiant whorl 

Carved in patient Nature's way. 

Souls by countless millions — souls 

In their endless generations ; 
Souls which built the road which rolls 

All the thought of rising nations. 

Cave-man — savage strange and old. 

With his glimmering intuitions; 
Stone age, bronze age, fierce and bold, 

Joys and passions and ambitions. 

Kings before great Agamemnon, 

Heroes, chiefs, inventors, sages, 
Ere the power of poet or penman 

Came to echo down the ages. 

Fierce Egyptian, thoughtful Jew, 
Arab sheikhs and Tyrian traders, 

Homer's Greeks, and Trojans too. 
Patriots, prophets, priests, invaders. 

Sappho's lute, Anacreon's lyre 

Ringing in the ocean breeze; 
Pindar's words that burn like fire, 

Thunders of Demosthenes. 

Roman, noblest soul of all, 

Eye of hawk and hand of steel ; 
Mystic Druid, ardent Gaul, 

Chanting from his chariot wheel. 



44 V E E S E S . 

Franks and Friesians, Saxons, Danes, 
Angrivarians, Amjjsivarians, 

Folk-moot, hosting, jarls and tlmneg; 
Fiercest, wisest of barbarians. 

Blood that in our bosom surges, 
Thought that all our spirit fills. 

See, the bark of Hengist urges : 
Hark, the shout of victory thrills. 

Churls who faced the Norman foe, 
Scots who under Wallace bled. 

Lord and vassal, high and low, 
Country born and city bred. 

0, the threads of countless lives 
Bi-aided in this life of ours: 

Sturdy squires and saintly wives 
From the shade of minster towers. 

Pressing to our western land, 

Puritan and pioneer, 
Stern and honored forms they stand 

At the forge of history here. 

Gaily ring the horses' feet 

On the road-way's shining reaches. 

While the ocean's pulses beat 
Softly on the southern beaches. 



VERSES. 45 



PSYCHE. 



Perfect hush in all the air; 

Not a whisper in the trees; 
Summer in his treasure ne'er 

Garners brighter hours than these. 

Lowering lurid, o'er the hill, 

Masses deep of livid cloud 
Quiver with the bolts that thrill 

In the tempest's threatening shroud. 

Soaring, in the airy space, 
Two gay, golden butterflies, 

Floating with a heavenly grace. 
Still in hovering spirals rise. 

Flashing on the indigo. 

Like two sparks of living fire, 
Rising from the world below. 

Higher yet they press and higher. 

Titan masses pile above. 

Pregnant with the liglitning's breath; 
See them there, like dreams of love — 

Deathless at the gates of death. 

Eyes celestial watch their forms 

Through the trackless ether whirled, 

Guarded, on the path of storms. 
By the hand that rules the world. 



46 V E E S E S . 



PILATE. 

Power is real; wealth is real; 

See the iron legion stand; 
Nothing there of the ideal; — 

Now it stirs at my command. 

Power to set a world in motion 
From the rising of the sun; 

Lo, the galley's on the ocean 
Ere the summons is begun. 

Power to curb a haughty nation, 
Power to make the people wait; 

See the priest forsake his station, 
Bowing humbly at my gate. 

Wealth commands refining pleasure. 
Days to roam the land and sea, 

Hours of sweet reflective leisure. 
Hours of high philosophy. 

Art Athenian, art Ephesian, 

Alabaster, emerald, gold, 
Myron's dearest, clearest vision, 

Grace of Zeuxis, still untold. 

Luxury that no barbarian 

Dares to dream of shall be mine, 
Gate of bronze and roof of Parian 

On the stately Aventine. 



V E E S E S . 47 

Eight to face a nation's sages, 

Eight to serve a nation's gods; 
Eising o'er the hurrying ages 

Jove above his altar nods. 

Yain your dream of eastern magic; 

Your philanthropy sublime 
Only earns a torture tragic, 

Burden of a traitor's crime. 

Vain your backward turning vision, 

Dreams of David on his throne ; 
See, the rabbins howl derision ; 

He who dies must die alone. 

What your giierdon, I implore you? 

Dying, wretched as a dog. 
With a sky of brass before you, 

jSTailed against the cursed log. 

Will you force the will of Caesar? 

Break the peace of sea and land? 
With a lion roaring, he's a 

Daring man who lifts a hand. 

Youth, with eyes of eastern languor. 

Sweet compassion, noble fire, 
Free from bitterness and anger, 

Seeking heaven with pure desire, 

Lo, you stir a Eoman's pity. 

Qviick; your idle dream forsake. 
I'll remove you from the city 

To your bright Tiberian lake. 



48 VERSES. 

There the azure billow slumbers 
Where the roses shed their balm, 

Plashing in melodio\is numbers 
Underneath the mystic palm. 

What can be your strange ambition? 

What the goal of your desire? 
Lo, your nation in contrition, 

Writhing in the temple's fire. 

Listen to a Eoman's reason. 

Learn compassion, wisdom, ruth; 
Cease the mischief" of your treason. 

Galilsean, what is truth? 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

The autumn suns are southering fast. 

But sunny is the weather, 
And Nature and the human heart 

Draw closer still together — 

A pair acquaint with better days 
And thankful for the blessing, 

Content to see the world disrobed, 
And welcome next year's dressing. 

The woods are full of sweetest sounds 
For those who pause to listen; 

The streams, unshaded by the leaves, 
In brighter silver glisten. 



VERSES. 49 

The squirrel has laid in his hoard 
And stops to frisk and chatter, 

While winter wads his silken robe. 
And makes him look the fatter. 

The gentian lifts its eye of blue 

To meet the blue above it — 
The sweetest flower of all the year 

To those who know and love it. 

The oak trees sun their purple robeg 
And shield their humbler vassals; 

Witch hazel haunts the sylvan paths 
And shakes its golden tassels. 

A dandelion on the bank 

Its silken leaves is showing, 
As if the winter storms were past 

And April breezes blowing. 

We better read the signs, and know 
How soon the clouds will darkle. 

And icicles upon the bough 
In silver tissue sparkle. 

Like dials still we court the sun 

And count the sunny hours, 
N'or waste our tears for autumn's sweets 

And summer's brighter flowers. 

What we have lost is memory's food; 

W^hat we possess is treasure ; 
And still we garner sights and sounds 

For coming winter's pleasure. 



50 V E E S E S . 

When nights are long and days are dim 

It's pleasant to remember 
Our latest ramble in the woods — 

The g-ift of bleak November. 



"'fl 8Ta^ ai^Hp". 



air divine, whose magic fills 
The vistas of the distant hills, 
Vvliere faintest blue and violet-gray 
Upon the dreaming summits play, 
And clouds, in long procession, glide 
Above the mountain's purple side! 

The shadowing air, that fills the glade 
Beneath the forest's proud arcade. 
Where beechen pillars, gleaming white. 
Support the arcli of verdant night. 
And golden sunbeams, piercing keen, 
Eeveal the beauty of the scene. 
The solemn firs their music lend, 
The winds in diapason blend. 
And feathered choristers beguile 
The silence of the fretted aisle. 

The mighty air, whose pulses fling 
A cushion for the sea-gull's wing. 
Where leaping breakers vainly roar 
Upon the fatal granite shore. 
Or burstin.'sj billoAvs backward glide, 
In torrents, from the iceberg's side. 
Again, the wreathing hands of foam 
Beckon a solemn welcome home 



VERSES. 5i 

Where royal rainbows radiant lie 

On clouds that face a clearing sky. 

Or myriad dancing dimples smile, 

At snnset, round the tropic isle. 

The mystic air, whose magic throws 

A pearly gleam on Alpine snows. 

Where doming masses proudly rear 

Their outlines in the ether clear. 

At noon, the sharp-cut shadows mark 

The dazzling drifts with sapphire dark ; 

At eve, the dying sun bestows 

A dower of burning, blushing rose, 

And midnight moons, in mercy given, 

Salute the destined bride of heaven. 
The radiant air, whose colors play 

On Volscian ranges, far away. 
The Angelus, at evening, falls 
In blessing from the convent walls; 
The softened chime of silver bells 
The joy of blessed Mary tells ; 
Declining rays of sunlight paint 
The pathway of the coming saint, 
Where beetling limestone cliffs ascend 
And melting pinks and lilacs blend — 
The mountain bares its sacred breast, 
And lets the sunbeams do the rest. 
The glorious air, serene and free, 
On Ischia's violet-turquoise sea 
Where light, arising through the wave. 
Transfigures Capri's azure cave. 
Oh, is it water, is it air 
That melts in silver radiance there? 
Combining powers of Nature kiss, 
To bathe the soul in sapphire bliss. 



52 VERSES. 

The thoughtful air, whose pinions roam 
Around San Marco's ancient dome, 
Where oriental glories pour 
Their treasure on the Adrian shore. 
A score of generations rise 
In varied pageant to the eyes ; 
In jewelled pomp mosaics smile 
Along the quaint Byzantine aisle, 
And evening incense softly glows 
Beneath the window's mystic rose. 

The magic air that painters love — 
That bore the wings of Raphael's dove 
Where heaven's choicest radiance falls 
Around Perugia's castled walls, 
And rays of vernal beauty shine 
Above Assisi's distant shrine. 
The air which clasped in crystal sphere 
Great Titian's glory, sweet and clear. 
And bade Murillo's spirit soar 
To regions never known before. 
It pours its light of amber keen 
On Veronese's noble scene. 
And gladly seeks the savage cell 
Where proud Salvator loved to dwell. 

The tragic air, whose shadows haunt 
The darkened visions of Rembrandt, 
And lays the crown of victory sweet 
At Angelo's triumphant feet. 
The air that eases Turner's pain, 
That calms the heart of Claude Lorraine 
And frames the upward gazing soul 
Of Giotto in an aureole. 

The tender air, whose pensive glow 
Loves the perspectives of Corot, 



VERSES. 53 

Where poplar dell and willow isle 
Beneath the Norman heavens smile. 
Or myrtle sweet and ilex shade 
Darken the turf of Nemi's glade. 
The Dryad girls forsake their haunts 
Beside the classic lake to dance, 
And spring, once more returning, thrills 
The ancient heart of Alhan hills. 

The sacred air, whose rising power 
Grew conscious in a nobler hour, 
When Galilsean fishers come 
To seek the holy upper room, 
Where solemn silence breathless trod 
Before the very face of God. 
Hark, how, at once, the bursting gale 
Sounds like the tempest in the sail. 
Or mountain storms that fiercely sweep 
At midnight through the forest deep. 
Bright tongues of lucent fire fall 
Beneath the eye that watches all, 
And burning rapture, once again. 
Rests on the brow of sinful men. 
Above, the earthly roofs dissolve, 
The distant crystal spheres revolve; 
Deepening abysses ever shine, 
Clearer tlian light, sweeter than w'ine. 
Air divine I Air divine ! 



54 V E K S E S . 



THE BRAIN". 

There are regions no plummet can sound 

In the depths of the pitiless sea, 
Where sunlight forever is bound 

And terror alone can be free; 
Where, under the roots of the mountains 

Despair and Eternity kiss. 
And Nature grows pale at the fountains 

Which fill the remorseless abyss. 

There are realms of unthinkable space 

Above the bright vault of the skies 
Where Infinity veils her dark face 

And Eeason in hopelessness dies ; 
Where Creation sits mute by her urn. 

And the Morning Stars echo the chime 
Which Archangels sing, who return 

From the domes that are guiltless of time. 

And yet all the spirits declare 

That no chasms of existence remain 
So unknown to the hosts of the air 

As the depths of the marvellous brain; 
The brain, with its stress and its strain, 

Its weariness, madness, and pain ; 
The power to bear all the weight of despair 

Which is found in the depths of the brain. 

The ocean of consciousness sparkles 
With light on the crest of each wave, 

While beneath it an impotence darkles 
To see, and to know, and to save; 



V E E S E S . U5 

In the caverns of memory deep 

The visions roam wild at their will 

Which only the waters that steep 
The poppies of Lethe can still. 

There's a dungeon of pitiless Fate 

Where Life waxes pallid and wan 
And Ignorance closes the gate 

On the hopeless condition of man. 
Oh, the brain with its stress and its strain, 

Its weariness, madness, and pain — 
Only God from, above with his might and his love 

Can enlighten the depths of the brain. 



SLEEP SONG. 



For those who are suffering and sore. 
For those who are weary and weep, 

A guest from the infinite shore 
Comes the spirit of cradling sleep. 

With visions of beauty that bring 
Their bcilm from the isles of the blest, 

Where angels in ministry sing 
The souls of the tortured to rest; 

Where those we have loved and have lost 

Await us in fields of delight. 
Till the tides of the ether are crossed 

And hope has been quickened to sight; 



56 VERSES. 

Where the stars of the morning rejoice 
In the brightening breast of the skies. 

Where the cherubim ntter their voice, 
The antiphonal seraph replies. 

As fresh as the zephyrs that bear 
The bird on the winnowing wing 

To the limitless regions of air 

Where mountains in majesty spring; 

As strong as the billows that roll 
The form in their beryl abyss, 

Where currents of ocean control 
And powers of eternity kiss; 

As bright as the radiant pearl 

That comforts the murmuring shell. 

As white as the wings that unfurl 
From the wandering nautilus shell; 

As soft as the gentle monsoon 

That breathes on the Indian isle, . 

As silent as rays of the moon 
On the bowers of Paradise smile; 

As fragrant as clouds of perfume 
That waft from the altar of gold. 

As pure as the joys that consume 
The soul with their rapture untold ; 

As sweet as the dew of the morn 
That lights on the lip of the rose. 

As clear as the eye of the fawn 

Comes the power of perfect respose. 



V E E S E S . 67 

For those who are suffering and sore. 
For those who are weary and weep, 

A guest from the infinite shore 
Comes the spirit of pillowing sleep. 



WHERE? 



Yivid, vital domes on high, 

Quivering founts of heavenly light, 
Flashing meteors of the sky 

Tell the watches of the night. 

Choirs of tuneful stars above 

In their robes of diamond dressed. 

With the moon, the silver dove. 
Circle to the peaceful west. 

Still, we know what forces speed 
Underneath our silent feet, 

How the powers of ISTature lead 

Where the dawn and darkness meet. 

Kight's arising curtain shows 
Morning's still recurring feast; 

All our orbing planet glows 
Swift, to seek the fatal east. 

Plummets cast by mortal hands 
Never reach creation's bars; 

Vain our human compass stands 
In the whirl of reeling stars. 



58 V E E S E S . 

Up and down, behind, before, 
All are lost in gulfs profound; 

All the dooms of human law- 
Faint where chimes immortal sound. 

On the road of wheeling spheres, 
On the track by thunders trod, 

Still v/e press with doubts and fears 
To the judgment throne of God. 



SANTA LUCIA. 

O'er Ischia far a silver star, 
Its radiant blessing signing, 

Ab peaceful guest upon the breast 
Of every' wave is shining. 

Across the bay the purple ray 
Of sunset's rose is gleaming; 

With fires oppressed, in mighty breast, 
Vesuvius is dreaming. 

The vapors rise against the skies 
Where evening's glories linger; 

The stately column, erect and solemn, 
Is like a spirit's finger. 

Upon the porch before the church 
The fisher-folk are kneeling. 

While silver-bell with sacred knell 
Across the sea is pealing. 



V B E S E S . 59 

Each lip repeats the hymn that beats 

In cadence clear and ringing: 
"Ye Powers above, respect our love. 

And hear our spirits singing. 

"Oh, shield each life, so dear to wife. 

To sister, child, and mother, 
And bring again, through moons that wane. 

The husband, son and brother. 

*T)eliver still from every ill 

Where powers of darkness gather; 

Protect from harm and night's alarm 
The lover and the father. 

"Before the shrine, with light divine. 

Our taper shall be burning, 
To greet our brave across the wave. 

At break of day returning.'* 



LOUIS QUINZE. 

*^What a glorious edition — 
Like a dandy at a dance 

Or a pink of erudition 

At the court of Louis Quinze. 

"Red morocco! what a binding! 

Perfect paper, supple, thin ! 
Take a look and you'll be finding 

Splendid copper-plates within. 



60 V E "R S E S . 

"Perfect gilding, perfect tooling, 
Triumph of the bookman's art !" 

"Turn it over, stop your fooling; 
Let us see the creature's heart. 

"Gramniont? rather sultry reading; 

You may keep the painted runyon; 
You are welcome to the beading; 

Give me half a pound of Bunyan!'* 

Down he threw the gilded treasure, 

And the pages, turning over, 
Showed where book-worms, for their pleasure, 

Gnawed it through to either cover. 

Heartless stuff, befouled, bepuddled; 

Like a gay gallant who sails 
Velvet coated, powdered, fuddled, 

Down the terrace at Versailles. 



EANZ DES VACHES. 

On high, facing the sky, 
Afar, facing the star, 
Stands tlie mountain. 

The fountain broods o'er waters that leap. 
From the fatal steep. 

Dimly seen, gathering sheen. 
Keen and white, pregnant with light. 
Glows the morning ; 

The east still dreams of visions that rest 
In the peaceful west. 



V E E S E S . 61 

Founts of love stream from above. 
Feasts of light flame with delight 
Ever burning, 

The day-spring chants of powers that kiss 
In the vast abyss. 

Fierce the strife, darkness and life, 
While the world onward is whirled, 
SAvift and fatal. 

The hour is hailed by spirits that sing 
On their rainbow wing. 



THE NAME OF THE TUNE. 

Brightly shines the mistletoe 
On the tavern's ancient rafter; 

Lads and lasses all aglow. 

Gaily rings the pealing laughter. 

Merry flies the rigadoon 

Down the sides and up the middle. 
Following the plaintive tune 

Of the gray-beard's rosined fiddle. 

"Father," says the Colleen Bawn, 
Pausing by his tired shoulder, 

"Why at Christmas so forlorn?" 

"You will know when you are older." 

Softer, now, the gentle flame 

Of the eyes with beauty glancing: 

"Father, tell us, what's the name 
Of the tune that keeps us dancing?'* 



62 V E E S E S . 

In the faded eye a dew, 

On the withered lip a quiver: 

"Heart of gold dnd flowers of hluc- 
Underneath the snow forever.'* 



PORTAGE. 

The snn hovers low in the west. 
The snow mist is over the vale. 

The smooth flowing waters arrest 
The light with a radiance pale. 

They mirror in silver the hills 
That round them in ermine arise. 

And echo the rapture that thrills 
The answering heart of the skies. 

They linger in visions of bliss, 
Aware of the currents that urge 

Their flow to the Powers that kiss 
The foam-frozen lips of the gorge. 

One instant of beryl and pearl, 

One instant of emerald gleam, 
And the nymphs of the forest unfurl 

Their shroud o'er the fall of the stream. 

The hemlocks, eucrustcd in snow, 
Are muttering uuder their breath, 

And bend o'er the terrors below 

Wliere the river encounters its death. 



V E E S E S . 63 

A gap in the forest reveals 

The waters that whirl to the sea. 

Ere the gloom of the chasm conceals 
The fate of the bright Genesee. 



GAELANDS. 



Who comes under the trees, seeking my quiet gate. 
Bright as murmur of bees where the sweet roses 
wait? 
Pardon. Enter my garden. 

Flowers are blooming for you to-day. 

Garlands hang in the door, garlands are on the 

wall; 
Bright mosaic the floor, where the soft fountains 
fall. 
Shining ivy is twining. 

Gay as myrtle in merry May. 

Bring your cheerfullest lute strung with the 

Grecian chord, 
I've my pleasantest flute where the sweet notes are 
stored. 
Waters clear as the daughters 

Of the nymphs will repeat the lay. 

Swiftly moments will fly under the vine above, 
Till eve flushes the sky, soft as a Lesbian dove. 
Gleaming clouds will be beaming, 
Stars will welcome the close of day. 



64 A^ E E S E S . 

Eastern incense is sweet, crowning the flickering 

fire, 
Gay the tact of the feet, ringing with sweet desire. 
Dancing is most entrancing 

Where the echoing music whirls. 

Short the day at the best, night will descend too 

soon, 
Then we'll quietly rest, watching the rising moon. 
Kinging echoes the singing 

Eaised by voices of merry girls. 



EEST. 

When silent dusk succeeds the eager sun, 
Notes of sweet comfort fall from dewy trees 
To show that kindly Nature is at ease, 
Her labors ended and her banquet done, 
The grateful guests departing, one by one, 
To nest in leafy covert ; and one sees 
The gentle current of the evening breeze 
Eock the light cradles of repose begun. 
In the vast temple of the sombre night 
They feel no lightest fear or touch of care, 
Assured that heavenly watchmen, waiting there, 
Will trim the guardian lamps of starry light. 
Oh, that each weary heart, to-night, could rest 
Its weary thought in so composed a nest. 



y E il S E S , 65 



VOICES OF THE KIGHT. 

Still is the gloaming, 

Silent the room; 
Sparrows are homing 

Where cornices loom. 

Newsboys are calling, 
Shadows are brown. 

Evening is falling 
Over the town. 

Gaslight is glancing 

Under the trees, 
Branches are dancing 

Soft in the })rceze. 

Voices are laughing 
Out in the park, 

People are chaffing 
There, in the dark. 

Kindly hands ph'ving 

Over the way, 
On the keys straying 

With thoughts of to-day* 

Footsteps belated 

Sauntering by, 
Young people, mated, 

W^atching the sky. 



66 VERSES. 

Stars, that are gleaming 

Softly above, 
Set the world dreaming 

Of nonsense or love. 

Old people thinking 
Thoughts of the past. 

Evermore linking 

This Avorld with the last 

Fears that are banished, 
Joys that have flovra, 

Lives that are vanished 
Out of their own. 

Thousands of hearts 
Dream of to-morrow. 

Conning their parts 
Of pleasure or sorrow. 

Footsteps of gladness. 
Eyes of delight, 

Memories of sadness. 
Voices of night. 



CE^TTRAL PARK. 

WTiere'er my wandering feet are led 
Her gentle form will glide, 

As faithful as the blessed dead. 
Forever at my side. 



VERSES. 67 

I hail each dear, familiar scat, 

Our shelter in the noon; 
The vista where our eyes would meet 

The rising of the moon. 

This spot among the ancient trees 

Is where we stopped to hear 
The moaning of the sohbing breeze— 

The birds that triumphed clear. 

Each nook recalls some word she said, 
Some smile, some bit of verse, 

Our musings when the clouds were red. 
The stories we'd rehearse. 

We talked of May dews, pattering cool; 

Of robins, as they slake 
Their thirst in the refreshing pool; 

Of lights that lit the lake; 

Lilacs, wistarias in May, — 

Heaven's bounty to us all ; 
The steady hand that cleared away 

The withered leaves in fall; 

The boulder, with its mystery; 

The sheep, with patient bleat; 
The child, with budding history 

And eager, hopeful feet. 

Dear park, with lawns and cool arcades, 
How many a memory weaves 

Its brightest hours, its darkest shades 
Among your murmuring leaves! 



68 V E E S E S . 

Full many a troth is plighted here, 
And many a friend must part, 

And many a story, bright or drear,, 
Lurks in your silent heart. 

Ten generations hence you still 
Will smile as fair as now, 

Eeturning birds will seek your hill 
And starlight crown your brow. 



THE BOWEEY. 

The Bouwerie ! the Bouwerie ! 
In Stuyvesant's time was fair to see. 
The old Dutch poplars were on the road. 
And black hens cackled and roosters crowed, 
And the windmills turned, and they made the hay, 
And milked the cows in the Holland way. 
And when Sunday came the Holland girls 
AVith bows on their caps and flaxen curls 
Came walking out from New Amsterdam 
With Jan, and Hendrick, and Dirck, and Earn, 
And all the world loved it — because, you see. 
It was Pieter Stuyvesant's bouwerie. 

Xow the cable-car rushes behind your back, 
And the "L" train thunders along its track, 
And shops about you are always bright. 
With sun by day or electric light, 
And all the world of the great east side 
Is pouring in with its restless tide. 
And never ceases — because, you see, 
There are things to buy on the Bowery. 



VERSES. 69 

There are Germans, Eoumaiiiaiis not & few, 

The thoughtful Kussian, the bright-eyed Jew, 

The Chinaman with his shuffling feet, 

Italians from Elizabeth street, 

The working girl with her gentle grace, 

The haggard walker with painted face, 

The confidence man, who smiles just the same, 

The bloated drunkard with eyes of flame. 

The cunning sharper, the bruiser wild, 

The tired mother who tends the child, 

The workman who staggers beneath his load 

While the gambler shoves him from the road — 

A pity it is; but then, you see, 

There's many another Bowery. 

The Bowery, the Bowery ! 
There are Hebrew theatres there to see, 
Eor wherever Abraham's sons are M^hirled 
Their mind still turn^ to the old, old world; 
There is noble David, and Solomon wise, 
And Esther dear, with her dove-like eyes. 
And people love them ; because, you see. 
There are thoughts of God on the Bowery. 



THE BREEZE. 



The breeze that sways the poplar trees, and sets 
them all in motion, 
With ruffs of white tliat make the leaves more 
radiantly green ; 
That sets the silver clouds adrift upon the azure 
ocean 
With pearl and sapphire harmonies where angel 
wings are seen. 



70 VERSES. 

The breeze that makes the ripples laugh upon the 
rapid river, 
Where all the moths are wonderful and butter- 
flies are gay, 
Where dragon-flies in armor-plate of blue and pur- 
ple quiver, 
And speckled trout are leaping where the golden 
shadows play. 

The breeze that rocks the downy nests where robin 
hearts are dreaming 
Of rapture which can never fill the anxious 
hearts of men. 
When all the world is symphony, and all the ether's 
gleaming 
Because the summer comes to cheer the dreary 
earth again. 

The breeze that blows the bees about among the 
sunny flowers 
When basking blossoms bloom their best beneath 
the skies of June, 
When lily heads are nodding light to greet the 
sunny hours, 
And all the garden's walks repeat the fountain's 
silvery tune. 

The breeze that cools my lady's cheek and sets the 
dimples dancing, 
That wafts the ruffles of her throat, the ripples 
of her hair ; 
The cunning breeze that knows the trick of art- 
fully enhancing 
The loveliest of lovely things in all the realms 
of air. 



V E E S E S . 71 

FISTULA AMEKICANA. 

Sicilian Muses blessed the shade 
Of many a spirit-haunted glade 
Where shepherds, on the mountain side. 
Saw the swift, silver streamlets glide. 
Or paused, amid their labors sweet, 
To view the plains beneath their feet. 
No sylvan reed, no oaten pipe 
Sounds, where our harvests beckon ripe. 
As once where ^Etna's runnels ran; 
Yet every true American 
Takes music's wine in thoughtful sips 
With wary, rarely opened, lips. 
The workman plies his morning chisel 
And wakes the shop with cheerful whistle. 
Or falls into a minor strain 
To test his edge and set his plane. 
The mower, straightening from his task, 
Echoes the note when blue birds ask 
The riddle which our mother Nature 
Puts to each reasoning human creature, 
Where engines thunder far below 
The grimy stokers whistling go; 
The whistle cheers the mighty sons 
Of war beside their thundering guns. 
And mingles with the bounding breeze 
Which bears the sailor o'er the seas. 
The weary mourner, pacing slow, 
Eepeats the tune she used to know. 
Or wakens, in the morning calm, 
To dream the half-forgotten psalm. 
And when the farmer, in the night, 
Eeturning, sees his window-light, 



i2 V E R S E S . 

Thinks of the steps tliat haste to moot him- 
Of the dear eyes that shine to greet him — 
No softer note was ever played 
For Amaryllis in the shade. 



SLEEP AND DEATH. 

Dear brother Sleep, I pray thee lie 
Close at my side; thy quiet eye 
Shall cool my lids; thy hand shall rest 
Like magic on my troubled breast. 
And harken, if our brother Death 
Shall pass this way, as Sibyl saith, 
Call softly to him; let him fling 
The shadow of his purple wing 
Across me. Thus, witliout a sigh, 
'Twere sweet in Death's own arms to die. 



THE SONG OF THE SAW. 

There's heft, and there's temper, and such, 
Which come when the instrument's made; 

Set the teeth not too little or much. 
And don't bear your weight on the blade. 

Oak lumber is different from pine, 
And sap-wood is softer than dry; 

Look out for the knots and the line. 
And measure the lengths with your eye. 



V E E S E S . 73 

It isn't in sweating and hurry. 

It isn't in bother and pain, 
Eor reason is better than worry 

As sunshine is better than rain. 

You may hack till your temples will throb. 
And you're nothing but smew and bone — 

It takes reason to wind up the job, 
And leave you some time of your own. 

I think that the parson has said, 

(And the weight of the sermon I'll own). 
That faith without works is but dead, 

And that works will not kindle alone. 

You never can run all creation; 

The shay isn't eyes for the boss; 
Keep up with the sense of the nation. 

But don't try to bully the boss. 

Leave heaven to care for the sinner. 

And mercy to temper the law; 
Do the best of your work before dinner, 

And don't leave the rust on your saw. 



FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 

The sun had passed behind a cloud, 
A gentle air was breathing, 

A cat bird warbled clear and loud 
Where clematis was wreathing. 



74 y E E S B S . 

There came a little puff of sound, 
A sort of gentle frisking, 

As if a bird were hovering round 
Or pretty mice were frisking. 

And then a glimpse too fair to last; 

For, ere the eye could steal 
A second glance, she flitted past — - 

Miss Fortune on her wheel. 

Misfortune's no cognomen, though. 
For such a lovely vision; 

'Twere treason, sure, to use it so — 
At very least misprision. 

Loyal to Nature we must he. 
Our ever kindly teacher. 

With dear rewards for those who see 
Her work in every creature — 

And most of all in her who came 
To crown the life of Adam ; 

If Nature is our gentle Dame, 
Then Eve was surely Madam. 

But this Miss Fortune was a Miss, 
And nothing could resist her — 

A gleam, a flower, a joy, a bliss, 
A woman and a sister. 

A pretty foot, a little hand, 
A whiff of subtle fragrance, 

A boon to those who roam the land 
As ramblers and as vagrants. 



VERSES. 75 

Music will wake where'er she ^oea 
(For music iiuist delight her) 

To pluck the thorn from every ro?e 
And make some home the brighter. 

A memory of delight she seems 

Ea.ch woe on earth to heal. 
To-night she'll mingle in my dreams 

Sweet Fortune, on her wheel. 



AN EVENING PAETY. 

Was ever ghost so blest as I ? 

In shades of twilight stalking, 
Two cheerful nymphs came tripping by 

And took me oif a-walking. 

Was it my star's enchanting bands? 

Was it some fairy giver? 
They took me by their merry hands. 

And led me o'er the river. 

And one was dark, and one was brown. 
And both of them were laughing. 

And so we wandered from the town 
With just a little chafjfing. 

Was there a bridge? I cannot tell; 

I did not watch the going. 
The sunset I remember well. 

And that a breeze was blowing. 



76 VERSES. 

But nymphs, you know, liave rainbow wings, 
And ghosts, though gray and dismal. 

Sometimes go oft' on frisks and swings 
Through depths of air abysmal. 

The sky was full of sunset clouds 

In sunset glory radiant, 
Wliieh made us think of jolly crowds 

Invited to a pageant. 

A sort of general carnival 

'Neath solar chandeliers, 
To trip it lightly at the ball 

With music of the spheres. 

Their cloaks were made of satin gray 

With crimson velvet lining ; 
They hurried to the gates of day 

With faces bright and shining. 

The water mirrored all the show 

In crystal fair and beaming. 
Which made another heaven below. 

As if the earth were dreaming. 

And there upon the western sky 

A silver star was glowing. 
To cheer us with its kindly eye— 

A look of peace bestowing. 

It promised it would watch by night 

And welcome us to-morrow, 
When dawn returned with rosy light 

To make an end of sorrow. 



VERSES. 77 

— If any ghost is glum, and limps. 

And feels inclined to shiver, 
He"d better find a pair of nymphs 

To guide him o'er the river. 



THE COEN. 



'Twas my third year of wedded life. 

And yonder, on the hill, 
I sojourned with my child and wife. 

Where we are farming still. 

We lived as plain as we could live 

And rose before the light. 
But somehow, nothing seemed to give 

The profit that was right. 

I'd mortgage interest to keep down. 

And other bills to meet, 
Until I'd hate to come to town 

And see folks on the street. 

I'd fifteen acres laid to corn — 

I own it was a risk: 
I tried it as a hope forlorn 

To make the payments brisk. 

I had to sell my choicest cow. 
Although we needed milk; 

I loved the beast, I will allow. 
With coat as smooth as silk. 



78 V E E S E S . 

And then the weather turned to dry. 

Without a drop of rain; 
I'd watch that yellow western sky 

Again, and still again. 

At last the babe began to pine. 
And Eachel answered mild, 

The Lord might take the corn and wine, 
But let her keep the child. 

The mossy stones were red as rust, 

No water in the ditch, 
As Scripture says, "twas brimstone dust. 

And all the streams were pitch. 

One morning, leaning on the hoe, 

I saw some water clear 
Shining upon the corn below; 

Maybe it was a tear. 

Just then the stalks began to nod 

And rustle; I'll be sworn, 
I thought it was the breath of God 

A-stirring in the corn. 

The air was fresh upon my face 
And sweet upon my mouth, 

And then the wind began to race. 
Like horses, from the south. 

I looked ; the sky was growing white 

And softening above, 
Like Eachel's eye of patient light, 

A melting down in love. 



VERSES. 79 

At noon the rain began to fall, 
And lasted through the night. 
You might have seen the corn grow tall 
Before your very sight. 

The drops came down as straight as lead 

And not in gusts and showers, 
And everv hill of corn was fed 

Through all the blessed hours. 

And in the cooling evening air 

The babe was sleeping sweet, 
And Rachel, she would smooth his hair 

And tuck his little feet. 

So, when the dawn came, bright and clear. 
And sweet with morning showers. 

There never was a house so dear 
As that old place of ours. 

I've hauled full many a load of care 

And sorrow, since that morn. 
But, somehow, God was always there, 

A-rustling in the corn. 



THE CLINIC. 



As snowy as the sea-washed shell, 
As polished as the perfect fane 

Of bright Diana's inmost cell 

The walls of porcelain shine again. 



80 A^ E E S E S . 

A bidden source of fervent heat 
Distributes warmtb to every part, 

As vital as the drops that beat 
In pulses from a maiden's heart. 

The chastened daylic'ht in a flood 

Pours through the lofty windows fair. 

As if the very eye of God 

Were resting on the taWe there. 

Around, in endlc.'^s order, stand 
The treasures of Invention high, 

More subtle than the softest hand 
And keener than the clearest eye. 

Oh. not, for torture, not for pain, 

The probe, the saw, the lance, the knife, 

To test the pulse of every vein. 

And fathom all the springs of life. 

In robes of white the doctors wait 
As priests that watch a sacred shrine. 

Attending the decrees of fate 
And ministers of love divine. 

For these are hands well fit to hold 
The brush, the chisel, and the pen, 

Whose every stroke drag's pounds of gold 
Or stirs the rapturous thought of men. 

Duty and science never shirk. 

When nature faints and need is sore; 

These men are doing butcher work 
For one they never knew before. 



Y E 1[ S E S . 81 

The leper's woes belong to God, 
And they are toiling now, as He 

Who once the path of sorrow trod 
With fisher-folk by Galilee. 

Blest anaesthesia's work is o'er, 

The elevator's ropes arise. 
And on the tranquil upper floor 

The corpus vile safely lies. 

The latest rays of evening blend, 
A hush of peace is on the place. 

And kerchiefed maidens meekly bend 
To wipe the negro's ashen face. 



Sharper than the two-edged sword, 
To pierce the hidden depths of sin. 

The mystic power of the Word 

Explores the thought of man within. 

Oh, when the woes of life are o'er. 
And when we lift our darkened eyes. 

May we behold the blessed shore. 
Where saints await in paradise. 



THE EVE OF SALAMIS. 

Salamis, Salami s, the island fair and free, 
The very joy of heaven and earth, the jewel of 

the sea ; 
The shores the Nereids love to grace with their be- 
witching charms, 



82 VERSES. 

The cliffs the awful Tritons reared aloft with 
mighty arms; 

The little isle that dared the foe with all his bar- 
barous odds 

And sheltered on her sacred soil our fathers and 
our gods ; 

The refuge of the wanderer, the hope of the op- 
pres-^ed, 

W]io cla^-ped the mother and the child on her pro- 
tecting breast — 

M&y great Poseidon shield thee well and bid thy 
sorrows cease, 

To crown thy walls with victory, thy palaces with 
peace. 

Attica. Attica, our mother country dear, 

Which all the months conspire to bless through- 
out the circling year. 

The land that dear Athene shields beneath her 
azure dome, 

Where every hero found of old his most familiar 
home ; 

The land Apollo loves to bless with all his radiance 
fair. 

Where every temple stands revealed in most pel- 
lucid air, 

Where Naiads seek the shady dells and speed the 
crystal streams. 

Where cloudlets float across the sky like raptures 
in our dreams, 

Wliere SAreetest echoes haunt the rocks, where fra- 
grance fills the vale. 

Where ring-doves nest in balmy woods and call 
the nightingale. 



V E E S E S . 83 

Where bright cascades from mossy cliffs descend 

iu radiant rills, 
To water glowing hyacinths and golden daffodils. 
Where mountains melt in rainbow hues and lure 

the sunset down, 
Where sister summits link the land within a violet 

crown, 
Where every hill-side shields the graves of fathers 

brave and free 
And the great ghosts of Marathon watch by the 

sounding sea — 
May Zeus almighty hear our cry, and bend in pity- 
ing ruth 
To shower on thy wasted shores the treasures of 

thy youth! 



Two thousand thousand myrmidons, the crudest 

of foes. 
Have trampled into bloody mire the lily and the 

rose : 
Where once the altar's fire was seen, where once 

the harvest smiled, 
Grim famine gnaws his withered lip and glares on 

ruin wild. 
No sculptured architrave is seen, no marble 

columns stand 
Where once a hundred palaces adorned a gracious 

land. 
The smoke of burning cities floats, a melancholy 

pall, 
Above the happy fields which gave our life, our 

love, our all. 



84 VERSES. 

The satrap spreads his gilded tent, the plumed as- 
sassin roves 

Where once Athene's shrine appeared in Erech- 
thean groves, 

And wisdom fair has left her home among the olive 
trees. 

To find a shelter in the brow of great Themisto- 
cles. 



monstrous mass of barbarous ships! portent 
vast and fell, 

The spawn of every eastern wharf, the harbingers 
of hell ! 

Where Moloch's death-fires light the mast, where 
Baal's prophets ban, 

Where Isis and Osiris blast the thought of free- 
born man. 

Where horrid ensigns flaunt the skies and threaten 
hideous strife, 

Whore blood}' tyrann}^ defies the hope of Grecian 

life- 
Ma}' heaven and earth accept the gage and rise in 
all their might 

To hurl the demon back again in deepest shades of 
night ; 

May storm and tempest speed our barks, may flash- 
ing bolts be hurled, 

^lay victory crown Themistocles and save the dark- 
ened world ! 



VERSES. 85 

THE PILLAE OF FIEE. 

The radiance of the western sun fell in a crimson 
flood. 

And Sinai's sandstone masses glowed like sacri- 
ficial blood — 

Each crag and pinnacle revealed against the vio- 
let sky, 

As if no cloud had ever hid that crest from human 
eye. 

A solemn silence filled the air — a silence that was 

heard ; 
Xo palm tree fanned its weary frond, no blade of 

grass was stirred, 
The desert broom was still as death upon the heated 

sand. 
The presence of an awful power was brooding o'er 

the land. 

Above the altar rose the smoke upon the ether calm^ 
As soars the cypress o'er the spot where roses shed 

their balm. 
All hearts were hushed, all lips were stilled, and, 

each beside his tent. 
The hosts of mighty Israel in adoration bent. 

Tlie darkness fell. The mystic cloud above the 
holy shrine 

Revealed a heart of fire and glowed with radiance 
divine, 

Then, like a fount of light it rose above the shad- 
owed earth, 

As angels, from their mission, seek the heaven of 
their birth. 



86 VERSES. 

Swift as an eagle's cry the trumps alarmed the 
silent air; 

No time there was for doubt or fear, and scarce a 
time for prayer. 

Each Levite seeks his sacred task, the golden col- 
umns fall. 

The pictured veil enfolds the ark in emblematic 
pall. 

No sound of tumult stirs the camp, but, moved by 

power divine, 
Each household strikes its tent, each tribe is found 

in solemn line, 
Jehovah's presence leads the way, and towards the 

appointed north. 
The marshalled nation's bannered hosts pour like 

a river forth. 

God calls the muster of the stars, unknown to mor- 
tal ears. 

And, at the summons, every orb upon his post 
appears. 

Each starry spirit trims his lamp, each knows his 
ancient name. 

And on the darkening breast of night is seen the 
very same ; 

Arcturus rears his sceptre high, and, clad in robes 
of day, 

A million suns in order stand along the milky way. 

Thus, every Hebrew feels the thrill of Moses' guid- 
ing rod. 

And in the pillared splendor sees the very hand of 
God. 



V E E S E S . 87 

The calm of age, the zeal of 3'outh advance with 

even pace, 
And light eternal seals the hope on each uplifted 

face. 

"Farewell to Sinai, whence the Law pealed forth 
with power sublime, 

The voice which calls us now shall ring through 
all the vaults of time. 

Farewell to freedom's early days, farewell the des- 
ert sand. 

The light that guides our ransomed feet shall lead 
from land to land. 

"No thought of harvests left unreaped, of labors 

left undone, 
The hand that gives the manna is the hand that 

holds the sun. 
Where'er the radiant cloud shall rest our banners 

shall be furled. 
The God who called our fathers is the God who 

owns the world." 



THE OLD SCHOOL DAYS. 

We like to think of other times when all the world 
was brighter. 
When all the boys were sociable, and all the 
girls were gay. 
When winter cheeks were ruddier and summer 
mornings lighter. 
And it took a dozen perfect hours to make an 
average day. 



88 V E "R S E S . 

Some leaden skies there were, no doubt, but those 
we don't remember; 
The little frets and bothers that never stopped 
the play ; 
The afternoons were l)right enough throughout 
the short November, 
And all the perfect bliss of life was crowded into 
May. 

The summer flowers were fairer far, the autumn 
fruits were sweeter. 
And sleep was so delightful that morning came 
too soon ; 
The birds were singing all the day their own pecul- 
iar metre 
Until the blushing sunset came to greet the ris- 
ing moon. 

The winter snow was pure and white — just made 
to pelt and tumble ; 
It really seemed as warm as woo] and always 
came to stay : 
And overshoes were nuisances — you never had to 
stumble 
Along the sloppy, dreary roads as peo])le do to- 
day. 

And, oh, the joys of chestnutting — the crashiiig 
of the branches. 
The shrieks of girlish ecstasy, the shouts of boy- 
ish fun. 
We danced upon the russet burrs like Choctaws and 
Comanches, 
Until the shower began again, and lasses had 
to run. 



V E E S E S . 89 

And even school was not so bad, in spite of imper- 
fections ; 
The benches were not always hard, nor teachers 
always glum ; 
And then there came the bright recess, the sociable 
refections 
We used to munch, until the bell would bid the 
loiterers come. 

And think ! the eyes we used to watch, the hands 
that used to greet us, 
The battered hats that twirled aloft, the laughs 
that used to ring; 
What golden light descended on the forms that 
came to meet us, 
As we started on our homeward way like birds 
upon the wing. 

Thank Heaven for children growing up as tur- 
bulent as ever, 
For sweeter voices left to sing the songs we left 
unsung, 
For boys as true and mischievous and girls as sweet 
and clever 
As in the perfect times of old when all of us 
were young. 



WESTERN ATHENS. 

Fair are the azure skies that glance 
Above the vine-clad slopes of France, 
Where storied pinnacles look down 
Upon the cheerful modern town. 



90 V E E S E S . 

And silent forms of history meet 
The passer on the sunny street. 

Fair are the village's that shine 
Upon the banks of Father Ehine, 
Where, from the crags, the ca;--tles gaze. 
Grim, through the golden river haze, 
And quaintest gables from on high 
Nod to the barges drifting by. 

Fairest of all, the towns tbat lave 
Their walls in the Italian wave; 
Where Tasso's laureled spectre roves 
Through sweet Sorrento's orange groves, 
And old Amalfi's towers smile 
Upon the Siren's fateful isle. 

No shades historic come to crown 
Our quiet Pennsylvania tov/n ; 
No tragic whisper fills the breeze 
That stirs the peaceful maple trees. 
Four generations scarce are sped 
Since the last Indian warrior fled 
And left our ancestors to rear 
Their cabins by the waters clear; 
A stalwart race of sober men 
To speed the realm of godly Penn, 
And bid the tasseled harvest wave, 
A requiem o'er the sachem's grave. 
A simple people, but they brought 
The lessons by the Saxons taught 
Of lofty freedom's noble mood 
And fealty to the public good; 



VERSES. 91 

The steady hand, the silent tongne, 
The rustic schoolhouse for the young, 
The eye of Duty stern, which saw 
No happiness without the law. 
And Self-Denial's quiet face 
To watch the progress of the race. 
Soon, o'er the trees, the churches rise 
To point the toiler to the skies. 
And silver chimings softly fill 
The echoes of each ancient hill. 

Hail to our western Athens ; hail 

The town that crowns the fruitful vale I 

Islay Peace and Labor, hand in hand, 

Bestow their blessing on the land, 

While Susquehanna's waters sweep 

In silence to the distant deep. 



PERFUME. 



Pour us, Nature, yonr treasure of fragrance, 
Child of the sunlight and guest of the air, 

Shed from the blossoms where humming-bird va- 
grants 
Pilfer the sweets of the chalices fair. 

Trumpets of bloom where the honey-dew lingers, 
Myrtles whose soul we can never forget. 

Pinks softly flushed by the dawn's rosy fingers. 
Pendant acacia and sweet mignonette. 



93 VERSES. 

Heliotrope clear as the love of a maiden. 

Lilies bright freaked with the gold of tlicir heart, 

Orange buds fresh from the gardens of Aden^, 
Masses of lilacs where honey bees dart. 

"Violets faint from the forehead of Hera, 
Hyacinths glowing from Latmos's cave. 

Breezes of balm as the shipman draws nearer. 
Speeding his bark on Arabia's wave. 

Cypresses framing some vision of Sappho's, 
Hedges of box from the Palatine hill. 

Tangles of sweets from Cyth.era and Paphos, 
Where Venus's amaranth blooms at its will. 



Spices of Borneo, gums of Sumatra, 

Breath of the ocean and glint of the isle, 

Lotus that blossomed when once Cleopatra 

Swept in her barge o'er the waves of tlie Nile. 

Eoses of Hafiz bedewed by the fountain. 

Where nightingales answered the notes of the 
dove, 

Jasmine that waved on Himalyah's mountain, 
When Shah Jehan roved at the side of his love. 



Cinnamon burning in domes of Benares, 

Sandal wood sweet from the shrines of Cathay, 

Oberon's gift to his legion of fairies, 

When night quickens clear to the eyes of the 
day. 



VERSES. 93 

Daphnes all white with the snows of the ages. 
Garlands still fragrant in memory's hands, 

Blossoms pressed softly in history's pages, 
Joy of all nations and light of all lands. 



Pour us, Nature, your treasure of fragrance, 
Child of the sunlight and guest of the air. 

Shed from the blossoms where humming-bird va- 
grants 
Pilfer the sweets of the chalices fair. 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Kind Nature laid upon his eyes 
Her fingers cool with rainbow dew. 

And, looking up in glad surprise, 
He saw a world forever new. 

As when his fresh-born Adam, laid 
On fragrant Eden's sacred sod, 

Looks awe-struck, dumb, but not dismayed. 
Upon the very face of God. 

The brother-cherubs wondering stand 
To watch their Maker's purpose dark, 

As, heart to heart and hand to hand, 
He gives his son the master-spark. 

Creation, thus, in sudden blaze. 
Met Angelo's astonished view. 

Majestic nights, triumphant days, 
The strange, the beautiful, the true. 



94 VERSES. 

Whatever met his senses keen, 
His visualizing power could keep, 

As sharp as fate on Memory's screen 
And garnered in her caverns deep. 

Beneath that Roentgen ray the skin 
Of man became as glass — he saw 

The temple of the bones within, 
The tendon's force, the muscle's law, 

The arching palace of the brain, 
The will that holds supreme control, 

The love that stirs, the fears that strain. 
The tides that sway the human soul. 

Beneath his hand of fiery power. 

The solemn bronze, in quickening pain. 

Melted like wax a single hour. 
Then stood forever bronze again. 

The radiant wall in beauty blushed, . 

The prophets glowed with rapture meet, 
The rising dead were awed and hushed 

Beneath their Judge's burning feet. 

Swelling to meet the heaven above. 
Arose St. Peter's mighty dome. 

Surging, as with a spirit's love, 
To heal the wreck of pagan Rome. 



V E K S E S . 95 



HOTEL DIETJ. 

Three o'clock, and all is well 
In the balls of God's Hotel. 
Softly now the echoes play 
From the churches far away, 
With a message stern and sweet, 
Over many a slumbering street. 
Up and down the nurses go 
Through the aiides of human woe; 
No emotion, not a word. 
Scarce the quiet step is heard, 
But the pillowed faces greet 
Steady hand and noiseless feet, 
Medicine and anodyne, 
Sorrow's balm and torture's wine. 

There's another figure there, _ 
Dark as midnight, light as air; 
Where she looks, the shivers pass 
O'er the forehead like a glass ; 
Where she halts a deeper frown. 
Draws the sleeping eyelids down. 
Starting sweat and quivering vein- 
Softly, softly, Madam Pain. 

See the doctor, old and gray. 

Coming down the fatal way. 

Pausing where the watchlight falls. 

In a halo on the walls. 

Like a benediction shed 

On the quiet sufferer's head. 



96 VERSES. 

Here's no trouble — just a trace 

Of exhaustion in the face ; 

"Waxen hands that softly rest, 

Folcled, on the peaceful breast. 

Scarce you hear that faintest breath^ 

"Thank' you, kindly. Doctor Death." 



AELEGRO MA NOX TROPPO. 

CrepuscuIuDi, (the word, in Latin, 
Implies a time to chirp and teeter). 

When Eastern skies are gray as satin 
And sparrows practice all their metre. 

The drowsy swallows try to smother 
Their yawns in miost mellifluous tones. 

While each bird chides his sleepy brother 
And scolds him for a lazy-bones. 

Then comes a rain of music, slipping, 
In casual dew-drops from the grove, 

While choristers, their nectar sipping, 
Awake from dreams of heaven and love. 

And when the whitening morning star. 
Has faded o'er the solemn hills. 

The robin wakes his light guitar, 

And tunes his pipe of various quills, 

Robins, proportionally, take 

Food for a dozen average mortals; 

Think of the red blood it must make 
To surge through the aorta's portals! 



VERSES. 97 

For wings require more force than feet; 

Angelic food must be supporting; 
And with it conies the music sweet, 

The eager notes and tlioughts transporting. 

So Shelley's sky-lark is quite true. 

We don't conceive or dream the rapture 
Of him who mounts the heaven's blue 

Beyond the earth and fear of capture. 

The joy, the peace, the bliss, the love 

With which each feathered bosom flutters, 

Wliilc fields of azure wait above 
And Nature all its mystery utters. 



But when the breath of ardent noon - 
Is resting on the leafy bowers. 

The birds prefer to rest and spoon 
Beneath the shade, in languid hours. 

The oriole may hang her nest 

On lofty elm — but what's the use? 

Better to seek the calm, and rest 
Beneath the covert of the spruce. 

Her orange breast is very gay, 

But pride like that repels and shocks; 
There's sober wisdom every day 

For those who con the insect stocks. 



98 VERSES. 

Grasshopper's firm, but grubs are low. 
And moths inspire a general dizziness. 

Better the mining shares, which show 
A flush of worms and general business. 

So, gathering in the gloom alone, 
They check their accents soft and fleet. 

While Summer gently wards her OAvn 
Through hush of air and pressing heat. 



When evening mounts her gorgeous throEe, 
And roses flush the melting west, 

A sweet, delightful .nonotone 
Of calm prevails in every breast. 

A vesper hymn is on the air 

And fills the ether with its blessing. 

While spirits climb the golden stair, 
To witness nature's great undressing. 

The last sweet thoughts of joy and love 
With dreamy notes the grove are thrilling. 

And gf-ntlc twilight broods above, 
Its dew of genial hope distilling. 

Keep, glorious stars, the watch on high. 
While fluttering bosoms softly rest; 

There's power in the midnight sky 
To guard the robin's silent nest. 



V E K S E S . 99 



YANKEE DOODLE. 

Yankee Doodle kept a school 
To make his children handy; 

"Set the best to teach the rest," 
Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"Come to school and mind the nile. 
For that will make you handy. 

Never fight nnless you're right," 
Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"Washington he led his class. 
And how was Master Andy 

Jackson down at New Orlcens?" 
Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"Keep at work, when others shirk. 

Never mind the candy, 
That's the way to make the hay,** 

Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

Once the boys they had a fight. 
Between the hours of schooling, 

Yankee he picked up his stick 
And went to stop the fooling. 

"Grant and Sherman can't be beat. 
And Lee is pretty plucky. 

Never have a fight again. 
And then we'll call it lucky." 



100 VERSES. 

"Massachusetts rather tough, 

Jersey pretty sandy ; 
Farmer stuff is good enough," 

Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"Old Virginny never tire, 
Georgia spick and spandy, 

Just a little southern fire," 
Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"This 'ere yard is plenty wide 
Enough for average showing, 

Never mind the boys outside, 
Unless they take to blowing.'* 

"Just bring in the Philippines 
And teach them to be handy, 

That is all the lesson means," 
Said Yankee Doodle dandy. 

"Come to school and mind the rule, 
For that will make you handy. 

Never fight unless you're right," 
Said Yankee Doodle dancly. 



THE SYMPHOXY CONCEET. 

A burst of silver radiance starts 

Beneath the winter sun; 
Three thousand listening, breathless hearts 

Are beating here as one. 



VERSES. 101 

Each with its do^ye^ of life or grief. 

Like priestesses who wait, 
Crowned with the rose or cypress leaf. 

Before the cave of Fate. 

And then a living, countless tide 

Of ringing, svvaying notes 
Comes, as in spring the breezes glide 

To wake the robins' throats. 

Each leaf repeats the conscious bliss. 

Each fragrant blossom thrills. 
The rosy Hours and Graces kiss 

The breast of ancient hills. 

A pause — a solemn, magic voice 

Is echoing soft and mellow, 
A thousand woes, a host of joys 

Blend in the mighty 'cello. 

The poet's note that soars above, 

Or art's supreme magician. 
The voice that floats on wings of love 

To greet the mounts of vision. 

The cry that rings to clouds on high, 

That wakes the dewy dell, 
While sky-larks listen, as they fly. 

To one who knows their spell. 

A single soul can mirror all. 

The power of human passion — 
The Prophet, with the skill to thrall 

Creation's fleeting fashion. 



102 V E K S E S . 

Softer and softer the refrain 

Is swaying like a censer; 
The rippling violins complain 

AVith rapture still intenser. 

Thus Nature wakes our fainting soiJ 
With her divinest pleading, 

And brings the comfort and control 
Of blessed spirits speeding. 

She sounds the depths of mortal woe 
Through countless generations, 

And answers burning souls that glow 
In their appointed stations. 



THE RIVER. 



Gentle river, laughing river, 
Sky reflector, verdure giver. 
Waving branches at thy side, 
Bow to thank the nurturing tide, 
Pendant wreath? of blossoms sip 
Nectar with their fragrant lip; 
Velvet-breasted swallows skim 
Where the dimpling sunbeams swim. 
Where the placid waters smile. 
Circling round the peaceful isle. 

Dappled fawns and timid deer 
Gather at thy fountains clear, 
Where the forest shadows play 
On the mountains far away. 



VERSES. 103 

Swooping giills OB pinion free 
Wait tliy coming at the sea, 
Wliere the rising breakers roar. 
Hoarse npon the rock-bound shore. 
Where the endless line of foam 
Gives the solemn welcome home. 

Past is all the changeful strife. 
Past the dreams of sunny life^ 
Ne'er again the bark shall flash, 
Ne'er again the oar shall plash, 
l^ower and town no more shall gleam. 
Flickering in the crystal stream. 

Child of sea-born clouds, return 
To the Naiad's natal urn. 
Blest and blessing was thy course. 
Free from trouble and remorse. 
Speed to taste the ecstasy 
Of the vast eternity. 
Softly kiss the golden sand. 
Softly quit the sheltering land. 
Die without a sob or shiver, 
Gentle river, peaceful river ! 



GAZEL OF HAFIZ. 

No roses are ever so fair to my sight 

As when in the locks of my lady they twine, 

No wave from the fountain so limpid and bright 
As when tinged with the ruby that's pressed from 
the vine. 



104 VERSES. 

Oh, fair is the tall nodding cypress, and fairer 
The soft-swaying bloseoms that breathe of de- 
light; 

But lovelier far are the cheeks of my Zara, 
Like baskets of tulips of crimson and white. 

Vain, vain is the effort of painters who try 
To rival the grace of the natural curl, 

The ivory neck and the languishing eye. 

Or the soft-throbbing breast of a beautiful girl. 

Make the heaven of loving, Hafiz, thine own. 
For tliy life is but short, and worth less than 
the least 

Of the handful of glittering coins which are thrown 
To the Georgian maidens who dance at a feast. 



POPLAR DOWN". 

The sylph that haunts the locust trees 
Pours out her fragrant chalice. 

The spruces wave their stately arms 
And greet us to their palace. 

The peonies on velvet turf 

Dream of their glad to-morrow, 

The hemlocks gild their sprouting tips 
Like sunny thoughts in sorrow. 

The summer breeze has crisped the sea 
With fleeces white as milk. 

It waves the wheat on distant hills 
Like folds of watered silk. 



V E E S E S . 105 

It sways the elm tree's lofty crown 

Where birds are full in tune; 
Like magic snow the poplar down 

Floats on the sky of June. 

On blooming grass we drink our fill 

Of perfect earth and skies, 
Till sunbeams lay their subtle hand 

Upon our closing eyes. 

The heart beats soft ; the outer world 

Recedes and disappears; 
Only the rushing of God's wind 

Is in our dreaming ears. 

The solid earth beneath us melts. 

The zephyrs lend their motion, 
With clouds and poplar down we drift 

Across the heavenly ocean. 



LAFAYETTE. 



In eighteen hundred twenty-four. 
When the republic still was young. 

The Eevolutionary War 

Ecmained tlie theme of every tongue, 

Near Bot^on, at Jamaica Plain, 

An ancient cobbler swung his sign; 

He still remembered George's reign 
And Washington and Brandywine. 



106 V E E S E S . 

He loved his grog, but loved his work; 

New England always had a place 
For men who did not care to shirk 

And kept a steady, cheerful face. 

A cricket, somewhat out of date, 

He piped and chirruped with the best 

And stopped at every open gate — 
Good nature's kindly, heedless guest. 

Long stockings on his withered shanks, 
A twinkling eye, and whiskers stubby; 

The boys forgot their usual pranks 
And kept a pinch of snuff for Tubby. 

That season, as the nation's guest, 
Great Lafayette came o'er the waters, 

Finding a welcome in the breast 

Of all Columbia's sons and daughters. 

And when he came to Boston town 
Excitement swept the quiet city; 

Each girl brought out her finest gown, 
And orators were brave and witty. 

Old Tubby followed with the crowd 
That came to see the great parade. 

And stood there, not a little proud 
Of stiff chapeau and fine cockade. 

When the cortege came sweeping by. 

He scarce could shout or speak for gladness ; 

For pleasure, in an aged eye, 
Is very close akin to sadness. 



V E E S E s . lor 

"Stop here !" the general cried, ''stop here ! 

Here's one of my old Continentals." 
And soon the veteran stood near 

The coach in battered regimentals. 

"I saw your honor," so he said, 

And clear the withered features shine, 

(He's taller now by half a head), 
"I saw you at the Brandywine.'* 

"They tell me," Lafayette replied, 

"1 ne'er forgot a friend as yet." 
And the old man broke down and cried. 

To be the friend of Lafayette ! 

The marquis placed a new cockade 
Beside the old one on his breast; 

Again the martial music played- — 
Forward the gay procession pressed. 

But after that good Tubby Jones 

Had freedom of Jamaica Plain ; 
He'd wet his whistle, rest his bones. 

And fight his battles o'er again. 

Some eyes there are that ne'er are blind. 
Some hearts there are that ne'er forget. 

A blessing on all souls as kind 
As generous General Lafayette. 



108 V E E S E S . 

ANTIGONE AND ISMENE. 

Ismene of the even mind, 

Delight of all the human kind. 

With gentle sense and prudent eye 

To know the force of reason high. 

To mark the possible and wrest 

The better from the ho])eless best. 

The counsellor of exery liour, 

The doubler of a mortal's power, 

Possessing all the wisdom rare 

Of when to slum and when to dare, 

Of when to suffer long and when 

To justify God's ways with men. 

A gentle creature wise and good 

For human nature's daily food, 

To bow before the Eternal's might, 

And span the abyss with rainbows bright. 

Antigone, who strives again 
Against the common lot of men, 
\Vlio spurns the half without the whole. 
And struggles with a desperate soul 
For truth and honor, fair and bright. 
Prizing the right because of right ; 
Scorning the wrong, and glad to break 
All human law for law's dear sake. 
Tremendous risk, terrific power 
That dares to trifle with the hour. 
And risk the fate of all below 
Upon a single desperate throw. 
The very thought of self is death 
To all her love; a single breath 
Of wrong, and all her work of blis3 
Falls ruined back in the abvss. 



V E E S E S . 109 

Tlie growth of ignorance, foul and rank. 
Converts the martyr to a crank, 
And eiTor arms her eager face 
Against the entire human race. 
A single fly brings foulest blot 
And all her ointment is forgot ; 
A touch from superstition's hands, 
And, lo, a perfect fiend she stands, 
With block for martyr heads, and smiles 
For human racks and blazing piles. 
Oh, rarest gift of man, the power 
To face PenieFs awiul hour, 
To tread tlie path that Jacob trod, 
Who wrested victory from his God, 
And came to meet his life again, 
A conqueror with God and men; 
The power to meet a tyrant's motion. 
To lead a nation through the ocean. 
To stand with hands uplifted high 
For laws of justice from the sky — 
With self-control that fears to break 
Those tables for their Maker's sake; 
That rises by the cliff, to give 
The fount that makes a nation live. 
Yet instant drops the lifted rod. 
Still mindful of the word of God. 
None, none can tread the awful path. 
Can win the blessing, shun the wrath. 
Cry of the lost, shout of the free, 

Antigone ! Antigone ! 
Strange destiny of sons of men — 
To live before their God again. 
As did their ancestors, and rise 
Obedient to his solemn eyes ! 



no V E E S E s . 

To meet with free and steadfast awe 
The iron fiat of his law ; 
To float in the abyss ; to stand 
A moth npon a gianfs hand! 
A withered k^af upon the blast, 
A mote iipon the whirlwind cast, 
A fleck of sunlight on the stream, 
The very shadow of a dream, 
The image of a Maker, yet 
Corruption which the worms forget! 

Oh, who can know and who can see? 
Antigone ! Antigone ! 

Note. — Gilipus, in Greek mythology, represents the 
Sun, child of Laiiis (gleaming ; the twilight) and 
locasta {bright tcandererj the moon). Like other so]nr 
deities he is exposed as a child; i. e., he disappears in 
the west, and appears, another yet the same, in the 
east. His swollen foot represents the distorted disk on 
the horizon. He slays his father, the twilight, and 
marries his mother, now the old moon, in the east. 
When the truth is discovered. locasta hangs herself, as 
new moon, on the western horizon ; ffidipus destroys liis 
own sight and sets in blood. His daugliters are Ismene 
(even mind, patience) the evening star, living out her 
appointed period; and Antigone (resistance) , the morn- 
ing star, which struggles against the light and perishes. 



FERNS. 



There's a power in nature that quickens and burns 
In each bud and each blade that aspire ; 

There's a life in creation which rises and yearns 
For the sky with a constant desire. 



VERSES. Ill 

The chemical forces of aget> unknown 
Have nurtured the root in the earth, 

And the seeds that the hand of a zephyr has sown 
Eespond to their marvellous birth. 

On the wing of the moonlight the dewdrops have 
flown 

Through the gulfs and abysses of dark, 
The radiant might of the sun on his throne 

Has hastened the magical spark. 

Of all the bright creatures that tremble and gleam, 

Of all the sweet visions that burn. 
There is nothing more tender by rock and by 
stream, 

Than the charm of the exquisite fern. 

With Titian's own green, with its fairylike lace, 

With circles that gently unfold 
On the breath of the spring from the earth at its 
base. 

It arises in emerald and gold. 

It awoke in the years before Adam was made 

Or the bliss of existence begun. 
And perished by millions beneath the deep shade 

Of forests that knew not the sun. 

It raised its frail frond in the darkness to kiss 

The lip of the poisonous air. 
And heard the fierce breath of the dragons that 
hiss 

In the gloom of a horrid despair. 



113 VERSES. 

It waited for ages and asons untold, 
For the pillars of heaven to arise, 

For the radiant dome from on high to unfold 
The joy of the cr3'stalline skies. 

In all God has made there is nothing that's loss, 
Each leaf is sustained by his power. 

Creation has shared in the weight of his cross, 
And looks for his glorious hour. 



QUEEXSTOWN". 

The tender leaves the steamer's side, 

One white hand waves afar ; 
The poising sca-guILs swoop and glide. 

Upon the outward bar. 

Here many part, and few shnll meet. 

And most are left behind. 
While eager wishes, keen and fleet. 

Float on the following wind. 

Where'er the Iris^h lass has trod, 

Where'er the lad has gone, 
There's still the heart that blessed the sod 

Where Patrick spared the fawn. 

Where'er the tide, revolving, swings, 

Where'er the islands be, 
The Irish hearts have spread their wings 

To fly across the sea. 



V E K S E S . 113 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

The castle stands firm on the beetling crag 

Over chasms of fathomless night, 
The whispering folds of the mystical flag 

Appeal to the stars in their flight. 

It raises its hands to the heavens on high 

With a passion no mortal can tell, 
Like a spirit that fixes its thoughts on the sky 

From abysses of terror and hell. 

The night-hawk encircles the tower above; 

Through the darkening fir trees below 
The moon casts a glance of compassionate love 

On the fate of the waterfall's flow. 

The gathering clouds hide the beautiful face, 
And nature is holding her breath. 

The chime of the water resounds with the grace 
Of a requiem constant in death. 

Strange warders above on the ramparts emerge, 

Closed visor and glimmering mail. 
All silent the footsteps that tread on the verge 

Of sorrow and mystery pale. 

Strange torches flash out in the banqueting hall, 

Strange choruses echo afar ; 
There are shrieks from the dungeons and groans 
that appal 

The heart of the listening star. 



114 V E K S E S . 

Every window is filled with a magical flame. 

And rings with a magical tread, 
The lamps of the towering archways enframe 

The terrible dance of the dead. 

Most strange, on the edge of eternity, stands 

The castled abode of the soul, 
Where forms of remote generations and lands 

Hold the sjjirit in instant control. 

There are passions now still in the dust of the ages 

And griefs hidden under the snow, 
There are transports and sorrows, devotions and 
rages. 

Long passed from our planet below. 

The ancestor's smile and the trick of his hand. 

His look of decision or pain, 
As he'd comfort or counsel, persuade or command 

Are seen in descendants again. 

The soul of a saint, of a heroine gleams 

In a mother's compassionate eye ; 
In her husband a buried philosopher dreams 

Or the scoffs of a cynic reply. 

In the flash of that brow, in the nerve of those 
hands, 

Is his spirit who mastered the ship ; 
The judge with his ermine in majesty stands 

In the silent control of that lip. 

The fires of courage and genius arise 
In the banner that's streaming above; 



V E K S E S . 115 

There are musings of heaven and hopes of the 
skies 
By the light of the phinet of love. 

There is terror and anguish and madness and sin 
In the gloom of the dungeon below, 

Where hope, became horror and life wasted thin 
In the veins of the long vanished foe. 

The powers of midnight and evil must shock 

The castle above and beneath. 
And well for the soul that is rooted in rock 

O'er the infinite darkness of death. 



COLD STORAGE. 

Outside my quiet window a tower surges high 

And bears the winter's greeting to meet the sum- 
mer sky ; 

There tons of frozen storage on groaning pillars 
rest, 

And Hecla's snows sleep quietly within the mighty 
breast ; 

There June and January both in calmest friend- 
ship meet 

And Christmas nods its hoary head above the Au- 
gust street. 

All day the drays, with restless teams, keep gath- 
ering about 

To bear icy giant's gifts of healing bounty out — 

The fruits and sweet refreshment to cool the fev- 
ered lips. 

The stream of life and comfort the pining baby 
sips; 



116 V E E S E S . 

It takes much stern macliinerY, and human thought 

beside, 
To send such eddies backward on Time's unchang- 
ing tide ; 
The engines thunder far below before the dawn has 

risen, 
As if a long-doomed Afrite sought to break his 

magic prison. 
When summer cheers ni}' upper room and lifts 

the windoAV-frame, 
I hear a stream of water rush, all night, the very 

same, 
And 3^et with fitful cadences and moods of vary- 
ing trills, 
Like streams that glide upon the Alps or cool 

Norwegian hills, 
Or where Italian naiads gather the mountain's 

tears 
And Byron's bow on Terne watches the flight of 

years — 
Where Anio thunders down the steep of Tivoli 

sublime, 
And the Sibyl's temple soars serene above the 

wrecks of time. 
I think how great Msecenas made Tivoli his home 
And its music granted him the sleep no gold could 

buy in Eome. 
I see the vast Campagna spread, the Este gardens 

rise, 
I see the evening glimmer red in the eternal skies, 
Till fancy folds her wearied wings, my senses 

of^ase to know, 
And I go where old Maecenas went and all good 

sleepers go. 



VERSES. iir 



FONS BANDUSI^. 

How delicious the fount tinder Bandusia's cave! 
Bright the bubbles that mount swift through the 
mantling wave. 

Wine is rub}, but thine is 

Crystal, perfect to bless and save. 

Gentle nymph of the spring, queen of the water 

free, 
Here tomorrow I'll bring sacrifice due to thee. 
Flowers fresh from the bowers. 
Garlands meet for thy deity. 

Most refreshing the pool fed by the currents fair. 
Ilex verdant and cool sways in the summer air; 
Sleeping after their reaping 
Workmen gaze on a goddess there. 

Other poets may chant Dirce and Castaly, 
And the visions that haunt under their sacred 
tree; 

Blessing ever confessing, 

Still I sing of thy grace to me. 



THE FIRE. 



Pile the mossy branches high, 
Once they soared to meet the sky. 
Cradled in the ether fair, 
Darlings of the light and air, 



118 V E K S E S . 

Drank the dews of heaven clear. 
Sheltering the birds and deer. 
How the fire-spirit clings, 
Laps them closely in his rings; 
How the rosy splendor masses 
Crimson light upon the brasses; 
How the cpinintest faces smile 
In the polished oak and tile; 
How the shadows rise and fall 
In the old familiar hall I 
Earliest dreams that one remembers 
Still are lui'king in the embers, 
Blazing castles, ocean waves, 
^Etna craters, FingaFs caves — 
How we watched the blazing log 
Cheek by jowl beside the dog ! 
Still the thronging memories come— 
Christmas mornings, welcomes home. 
Sweetest voices ever heard, 
Kindly thought and gentle word. 
Loving hands of long ago, 
Eolded now beneath the snow. 
As we dream we're growing older — 
Ah! what hand is on your shoulder? 
See, a welcome form is there, 
Tripping lightly down the stair. 
Call no more the bygone years, 
Fire, who knew tlieir smiles and tears. 
Counsellor of nridnight hours, 
Oracle of spirit powers, 
You who broke our dearest fetters, 
Treasure house of treasured letters; 
Gone they are, and let theui rest. 
Buried in your ardent breast. 



V E H s E s , no 

Changeful, eager, restless fire. 
Emblem of our heart's desire; 
How it bursts in ruddy flashes 
Ere it sinks to dust and ashes. 
Blackening, scorching, searing, thrilling. 
All the heart with anguish filling, 
Keener than the swiftest fencer. 
Fragrant as a golden censer. 
When the fleecy wreaths arise 
Through the murk to seek the skies; 
Heart consumer, purifier, 
Solemn, stern, judicial fire ! 



THE BATH. 



The eager oar has kissed the wave, 
The answering waters quiver. 

With scarce a touch we seem to glide 
Along the peaceful river. 

The fragrance of the summer rose 

Upon the surface lies. 
The trembling tide reflects anew 

The roses of the skies. 

A sound of many waters fills 
The dawn's refreshing cool. 

And guides us to the dear delights 
That haunt the crystal pool. 

Delicious poise, delicious plunge, 

Delicious the return 
To where the azure vaults above, 

In their abysses burn. 



120 V E E S E S . 

Thus must the new-born spirit rise 

Upon the air of even, 
And, cradled in the ether, view 

The opening gates of lieaven. 

The living water bears us on 

Its hospitable breast, 
It soothes each thought with perfect calm, 

Each nerve with perfect rest. 

The pulse of nature's conscious power 

Is in the wakening breeze. 
It crisps the wave upon our lips 

And sways the shadowing trees. 

A fount of music from the birds 

Is thrilling in the branches, 
It ripples from the listening leaves, 

And from the summit launches. 

They feci the joy of life divine 

And strive to tell the story. 
And all the air around repeats 

Its majesty of glory. 

The purple pennants of the east. 

In clearer light are furled, 
And eyes immortal gaze upon 

The beauty of the world. 



VERSES. 121 



THE MUSIC BOX. 

Where sweet Geneva's eye of blue 

Reflects the blue above it. 
And spreads its most enchanting view 

For those who know and love it, 

Wliere the horizon glimmers fair 

Above the range of Jura, 
And, bathed in most pellucid air. 

Each snowy peak shines purer. 

Where poplars of Jean Jacques Rousseau 

Upon his island quiver. 
And morning rose and evening glow 

Rest on the rushing river, 

A workman, wise in head and heart. 
Sweet Music's soul divining, 

Ensnared her spirit by his art. 
In magic case enshrining. 

And still, afar from Leman's shore. 

The melodies enchanting. 
In notes repeated o'er and o'er. 

Our thoughts are ever haunting. 

A touch upon the pearly box 

Opens the airy prison. 
While mother's hand the cradle rocks 

And children pause to listen. 



1S3 VERSES. 

Coronation Waltz. Strauss. 

Stern the castle's ancient splendor 
Rises o'er the sweeping Rhine, 

Silver moonbeams, soft and tender. 
On the deathless towers shine. 

'Tis the monarch's coronation; 

Noblest knights and ladies all 
Bring their joyous acclamation 

To the great ancestral hall. 

Hark! the sound of footsteps dancing; 

Hark ! the music in the air, 
Waltzing forms are brightly glancing 

Through the stately Avindows fair. 

On a Ijalcony, my dearest. 
Gazing o'er the silver Rhine. 

For an instant — oh, the merest 
Instant — raised her eyes to mine. 

The cadence fails 

Within the walls, 
The moon reigns white above, 

The nightingale in darkness calls 
To greet my only love. 



PoR-a Tlasscnf elder. 

Hark ! the polka music, ringing 

Through the branches sweet and free; 

Hark ! the Diorry chorus, singing 
Underneath the greenwood tree. 



VERSES. 123 

Tell me not of midnight hours. 

All is brightest in the sun; 
Here, in nature's fragrant bowers. 

Life and hope are best begun. 

Nothing else is half so cheering 
In this world of clouds and storms 

As the clasp of hands endearing 
And the sway of graceful forms. 

Lips are reddest, faces brightest, 

Happy boys and noble girls, 
Voices sweetest, hands the whitest. 

As the merry music whirls; 

Gentle fingers softly twining. 
Eyes on one another shining 
All the bliss of life divining — 
Swift the merry music whirls. 



La Violetta. Mazurka. Faust. 

Sweet mazurka, sweeter, sweetest I 
Tell me not the dance is done; 

Fleet the hours, fleeter, fleetest ! 
Sure, the night is but begun. 

Stars are calm and skies are tender. 
Nothing on the earth is true 

But my darling, graceful, slender. 
With her steadfast eyes of blue. 



L24 V E E S E S . 

Tell me not the sun is risen, 
Tell me not the dawn is gay, 

All without is gloom and prison. 
Here, alone, I find my day. 

The violet, the violet ! 
The fragrance I can ne'er forget, 
For nothing else on earth is sweet 
But Marguerite, my Marguerite. 
Marguerite, Marguerite, 
The name I'll evermore repeat — 
If I could die at thy dear feet. 
My Marguerite, my Marguerite 1 



Allegro di Nahucltodonosor. Verdi. 

See ! his Majesty Chald^ean 

Nearing in his awful state ; 
Hark ! the mighty, martial p»an 

Ringing through the golden gate. 

Gorgeous satrap, great magician, 

Form the glory of his train 
As the pageant, like a vision. 

Flashes through the jewelled fane. 

Hark ! tlie trumpets loudly pealing. 
Clashing timbrels, rolling drums; 

Sweet the dulcimer is stealing 
As the lofty monarch comes. 



VERSES, 125 

Join the shout the people raises ! 

Thronging crowds of every station 
Share the rapture, chant his praises 

With the Babylonian nation. 

**Nebuchadnezzar ! Nebucl^adnezzar ! 

Lord of our glory, our feasts and our pleasure !" 



Bedowa de SuUiva. 

Hark ! the redowa is sounding, - 
Chmung through the pillared halls. 

Like a poising billow bounding^ 
Then in silver notes it calls. 

There her snowy plume is glancing 
Underneath the chandelier; 

Cease, ye dancers ! cease your dancing 
Lo ! the queen of souls is here. 

Stately foot and graceful measure. 
Stately she, but never proud ; 

Sweetest eyes, with look of pleasure. 
Gazing on the parting crowd. 

Sound again ! ye accents tender, 
Sweet as Handel and Mozart; 

See ! she comes in all her splendor, 
She, tlie lady of my heart. 



126 VERSES. 



Brindio de la Zarzuela CataUna. 

Soft the star of eve is shining 
O'er ttie blooming orange trees. 

All the mysteries divining 

Of the fragrant western breeze. 

Cool the shadow of the mountain 
Falls upon the town below, 

And the music of the fountain 
Echoes in the twilight glow. 

Far on high Alhambra's bowers, 
Haunted by the stately past, 

Guard the joyful myrtle bowers 
While the singing voices last. 

Brightly sounds the brindio, flinging 

Gladness on the air afar; 
Gay the castanet is ringing. 

Sweetly chimes the clear guitar. 

Watch the dancers lightly wheeling! 

Softly through the darkness stealing. 
Louder, then, and louder pealing, 

Sweetly chimes the clear guitar. 



No more, no more, enchanting box! 

Though memory fondly lingers, 
Sad evening brings the key, and locks 

The past with thoughtful fingers. 



,V E E S E S . 137 

M. M. H. 

Wlien I remember all thy love and care, 

Dear mother, in the days of childhood, spent 
At thy sweet side — thy smile of calm content, 
Thy perfect voice, thy hand, thy v/isdom rare, 
Which seemed to sphere our life in holy air, 
As if a blessed spirit, nightly sent. 
Would spread the shelter of his guardian tent 
For pilgrim feet beneath the heavens fair — 
And when I know that all is past, and thou 

Safe with the friends beloved in other years; — 
I seem to see thee, light upon thy brow, 
A lip without a sorrow, and the tears 
Banislied forever from thy gentle eyes, 
Guiding thy long lost child in Paradise. 



E. M. 0. 



Thy soul was fairer than thy lovely face 

(Which made the stranger pause upon the street 
As if some minister of heaven to meet). 

Thy radiant eye, thy bright unconscious grace 

Which breathed in ambient air a shrine, a space 
That evil could not enter, and the sweet 
Look of compassion on thy lip to greet 

The world's great sorrow. Short thy earthly race; 

Happy in this, beneath the fatal dower 
Of beauty wisely borne — one, true as thou, 

Loved, sought and won thee, in a happy hour, 
Completing the full orb of life. And now 

They dwell where grief is past and sight begun— 

The wife, the husband, and their noble son. 



138 V E E S E S . 

J. M. E. 

I seem to see him as lie was in youth, 
His face all radiant, and his noble brow 
Fit for Apollo's fairest laurel bough, 

A look of candor and an eye of truth. 

He trusted other hearts, for his, in sooth. 
Knew nought but high resolve and holy vow. 
His only joy was kindly deeds, and how 

To comfort saddened souls by gentle ruth. 

A knight nf latter days, who feared his God 
And loved his neighbor. JSTow, in fields of light, 

He treads the paths that sainted feet have trod; 
And there the blc^^^'d mother meets his sight, 

Who, with a patient love that none may tell, 

Waited her son where choirins: anjrels dwell. 



H. B. 

His presence always lingers in the home 
He loved and blest, and on the shady street 
His lofty figure often seems to meet 

TTs walking. Pa-t the quiet church he'd come 

Froui a kind errand. There was always some 
Word of good cheer upon his lips to greet 
Those he encountered on the way. His feet 

Were welcome still in every house and room. 

A noble life; a very king of men. 

With wisdom won from many a distant shore ; 

A soul that ever lived in sight of heaven. 
No praise of mortals reached him. Evermore 

His thought arose above our human ken 

To Him to whom alone his soul was mvon. 



VERSES. 129 

ALL SAINTS. 

The glories of the western hill 

Through wreathing vapors fall 
Beneath the eye, serene and still. 

Of one ■who watches all. 

The memory of summer days 

j\Iclts in the ether bright 
As angel music softly plays 

Through gulfs of starry night. 

Embers of autumn's latest red 

Through baring branches glow, 
As, one by one, their leaves are shed 

On peaceful turf below. 

In chrysoprasp and amethyst 

The rounded summits rise. 
Foundations, gleaming through the mist, 

Of cities in the skies. 

With softer breath the zephyr faints, 

The sapphire river rolls. 
And heaven bows with all its saints 

To greet our mortal souls. 



SHESHEQUIN. 

"When Yankee hearts in other days 
A Western home v/ere seeking, 

They found a shelter in the glade 
Of pastoral Shcshequin. 



130 V E E S E S . 

Uniting rivers, then as now, 
FlowGcl by the verdant shore, 

Vrhore morning clews and evening glows 
Their fruitful influence pour. 

Among the blackened stumps the grain 
Tiie virgin fields was blessing, 

And Ulster mountain raised its hands 
To grant a sunset blessing. 

The Indian tempest filled (he north. 
War thundered from the east; 

A frugal table theirs indeed, 

"Where Freedom spread her feast. 

But eyes there were to see aright 

And hands to fire true ; 
From field and hill frontiersmen came 

Beside the waters blue. 

The deerskin made the hunting shirt, 
The women knit the stocking, 

And rdl along the country sicle 
The stalwart forms were flocking. 

Rough were the trappings at the best. 

But manhood did its part ; 
They bore their fortune on their back. 

Their country in their heart. 

Distant and weary was the march 
Past rock and wood and gorge, 

To face the fiehl of Brandywine, 
The snows of Yalley Forge. 



V E E S E S . 131 

When Peace and Liberty prevailed 

Nor bade them longer roam, 
A sober welcome 'twas, they found 

In every cabin home. 

No laurel for the weathered brow. 

No luxury to spoil; 
Nature renewed her fruitful years 

And spread her bounteous soil. 

They left a lesson for a world 

That wealth and comfort brighten, 

When hope and culture through the land 
Each village household lighten. 

Their spectral watchfires light the wave 

Upon the rivers clear, 
And by them stands the ghostly form — 

The stately Pioneer. 

The Eevolution greets our age 

As mothers greet their daughter, 
While Ulster nods her forest crest 

Across the silent water. 



SUNT LACRYM^ RERUM. 

The power of years eternal. 
Had framed the granite rock; 

The force of fires infernal 

Had rent it with their shock; 



133 V E E S E S . 

The surges of the ages 

Had ground it into sand, 
Where azure Ocean rages 
To kiss the blooming land. 

The Tyrian trader's fire 

Melted the stony heart, 
As drops of red desire 

From tortured spirits start; 

And when the glowing, quivering vase 
Was cooled to diamond glass 

'Twas glorious as when heaven's raya 
Through sacred fountains pass. 

They laid a lordly Eoman 

To his eternal sleep, 
Where ghosts of conquered foemen 

Eternal vigil keep; 

They filled the crystal treasure 

With orient spices dear, 
And in the balm of pleasure 

Melted a human tear. 

The marble chamber guarded 

Its secret long and well, 
The spectral watchmen warded 

The deep mysterious cell; 

And when at last the vase of tears 
Greeted the answering light, 

Both balm and tears, in lapse of years, 
Were lost in dust of niirht ; 



Y E K S E S . 133 



But radiant as a priestly cope, 
Clear as a living soul, 

A rainbow of immortal hope 
Embraced the glowing bowl. 



WEBSTER. 



One morning, at the Capitol 

Of Washing-ton, the wise and great 

Had come in crowds, to follow all 
The progress of the long debate. 

The forces of the North and South 
Were gathered for the altercation, 

And tragic Webster's was the mouth 
To sj)eak the watchword of the nation. 

The lives of unborn millions stand 
Waiting the end of the contention. 

And Fate holds in her iron hand 
The balances of the convention. 

Upon his lip persuasion lies — 

Great legist, orator, logician; 
With wing of eloquence he flies 

To seek the Pisgah mount of vision. 

Like summer tempests on his brow 

Gather the thoughts ; then, flashing under 

The clouds the lightning comes ; and now 
Follows the speech of pealing thunder. 



134 V E E S E S . 

The session ended all too soon 

For those who watched that mighty frown. 
And in the quiet afternoon 

The crowd went streaming through the town. 

Eeturning from the lofty dome, 

Some friends, as soon as they were able, 

Sought out their prophet's quiet home 
To gather round his cheerful table. 

Webster came down a little late; 

A lady, filled with the occasion. 
Eager, and quite unused to wait, 

Began at once congratulation. 

"Oh, Mr. Webster, if the world 
Could only all be gathered here, 

To see your banners quite unfurled 
In the defence of Union dear! 

"And then (you really mustn't smile !) 
But when in noble blue you stand 

And buttons ! the old-fashioned style — 
You always look supremely grand." 

His face was calm — no humor now, 
No touch of fun to greet her fact or 

Fancy ; beneath the royal brow 

There always lurked the perfect actor. 

The solemn lips are pursed, serene, 
Above the eyes the eyelids fall 

Demure, as any sweet sixteen 
Appearing at an eveuing ball. 



V E E S E S . 135 

He simpered for a moment — then. 
As if a maiden's fault confessing : 

"I thought that I looked pretty, when 
(I beg your pardon!) I was dressing." 



TEEASUEE OF THE NIGHT. 

Powers of darkness, in the night, 

Swept the world with blasts of sleet; 

Peace returns with morning light, 
Solar splendor floods the street. 

Writhing in the storm's alarms 
Every elm tree reared on high 

Wringing hands and tortured arms. 
Vainly, to the blackened sky. 

Now a glorious arcade. 

Passing work of mortal hands. 

Perfect light without a shade. 
In the azure ether stands. 

Polished porphyry pillars rise, 

Crystal arches nobly bend. 
Diamond fretworks on the skies 

In ecstatic beauty blend. 

Scarce a rustle stirs the air. 

Every voice of man is still. 
Silver timbrels, tinkling fair, 

Through the thoughtful silence thriH. 



136 V E E S E S . 

Thus may mortal spirits borrow 
Blessing from the powers of Night 

Days of grief and years of sorrow 
Deck the soul in robes of light. 



TSAESKOE SELO. 

Against the sapphire sky the dome 

Of gold is flashing clear — 
A dream of the distant spirit home, 

Where there's never a sigh or tear. 

The halls are rich with their stones of price 

Where the palace surges fair, 
But there's naught so sweet as the perfect spice 

Where the lime-grove woos the air; 

Where the leaves are damp with the Baltic dew. 
And the sun-flecked shadows brood, 

And the northern springtime is always new 
In the breath of the August wood. 

Is that the sound of the trees I hear. 

Or the voice of a distant crowd, 
While the note of the linnet, strong and clear, 

Eings out from its nest aloud? 

It's the voice of millions far away. 
Who dream of the souls they love; 

It's the Power that guides them on their way. 
And sounds from the clouds above. 



VERSES. 137 

There's joy on the bounds of the farthest hills, 
There's joy where the swallows rove, 

When the sweetest voice of summer thrills 
In the heart of the lime-tree grove. 



BREEZE AND CALM. 

The breeze arose at set of sun, 
With many a quirk and shiver, 

And, with a burst of youthful fun. 
Came speeding up the river. 

Each ripple in its portion danced. 
Each wavelet met its brother, 

As if their mutual joy enhanced 
The bliss of one another. 

The moon appearing on the hills. 
Its cheerful message speeding, 

Touched the bright water where it thrills 
With countless diamond beading. 

In every dimple's gleaming ray 

The orb beheld a daughter, 
Until a perfect milky-way 

Of moons was on the water, 

A path it seemed of silver light. 

Too fair for grief or sorrow. 
As if to lead me through the night 

To seek a glad to-morrow. 



138 VERSES. 

Another evening, on the bridge, 

A solemn silence bound me, 
And, when the moon had climbed the ridge, 

An icy spell was round me. 

She paused at heaven's open gate, 
And, gazing through the portals. 

Beheld a pool as smooth as fate. 
As black as grief of mortals. 

There lay the mirrored orb of white, 
While Nature held her breath, 

As if there gleamed a crown of light 
Beneath the stream of death. 

Without a stain, without a sigh. 

She met my anxious face. 
As if to teach a human eye 

The might of heavenly grace. 



When life is strong and hearts are gay 
With Nature's blessed power, 

We find a hope for every day, 
A joy for every hour. 

In every face we view a friend, 

In every eye an answer, — 
Like pulsing melodies that send 

Their challenge to the dancer. 

When hours are dark and hopes are few. 
The stars their wisdom lend us 



VERSES. 139 

To prize a single heart that's true,— 
One hand that can befriend us. ' 

Accustomed to the night, our eyea 

Behold a comfort-giver, 
And recognize the crown that lies 

Eeneath the silent river. 



ISAAC MARSHALL. 

Slow, slow, long ago. 
Clicked the cloek-v/ork to and fro. 
With the thrum, and the hum. 
Of the solemn pendulum, 
Where the rounded, glittering face 
Watched above the polished case, 
Markiijg time's appointed pace/ 
Straight and square, tall and spare. 
Like a rock by the clock, 
Firm of lip and M'hite of hair, 
Isaac Marshall stood in prayer- 
Revolutionary sire. 
At his side his heart's desire 
Kerchiefed wife and children four. 
Humbly kneeling on the floor, 
Heard the father's lips implore 

Blessings on them, o'er and o'er 

Blessings for the household store, 
Blessings from the heavenly shore. 
More and more. 
"And the State, firm and great, 
Where the sons of Pilgrims wait^ 



140 VERSES. 

Massachusetts: Peace and honor, 

Strength and wisdom wait upon her:** 

So he speaks, soft and low; 

Then the children rise and go; 

Eise to face their daily labor; 

Fear their God and love their neighbor. 

There, there, up the stair. 
In the summer morning air. 
Lay the figure tall and spare, 
With the busy fingers pressed 
On the breast. 

Whispering, they thouglit, it best 
Thus to wait and let him rest. 
Slowly ebb the pov;crs through the hours, 
Till the solemn evening lowers, 
And they said, by the l^ed, 
"Is he living still, or dead?" 
So they touch the withered hand, 
Eeverently, at love's command, 
And the veteran raised his eyes. 
In surprise. 

"I was thinking — thinking on, 
Of the day of Lexington ; — 
Farmer, deacon, parson, squire — 
There they learned to load and fire. 
Those were days of toils and pains- 
Old Long Island and White Plains. 
Long ago, long ago — 
I remember Rochambeau. 
I M'as thinking, children, too. 
Thinking of your God and you. 
As I ponder I can see 
Faces of posterity — 



V E E S E S . 141 

Children yours, and children theirs, 

Children of my fears and prayers. 

So I pray and leave the rest. 

Ho knows best. 

He will see. He will be 

With them as with yon and me.'* 

So he spolce, and closed his eye; 

Sober man, prepared to die. 

Slow, slow, long ago. 
Clicked the clock-work to and fro. 
With the hum and the thrum 
Of the solemn pendulum. 



ABNER CEAFTS. 

In worn and battered uniform. 

As gaunt as any ogre. 
He marched along in sun and storm 

Fiom far Ticondcroga. 

Good Abner Crafts, with eagle eye 
And sinewy figure lanky, 

Had left his home, to live and die 
With many another Yankee. 

He put a mortgage on his place 
And donned his regimentals 

To raise a company and face 
War with the Continentals. 



142 VERSES. 

And now, on furlongh from the camp. 

With compass to discover 
The way, he started on the tramp^ 

Three hundred miles and over. 

No mail or message, in those years, 
To bring him welcome tiding; 

For months he'd battle with his fears 
How all at home were 'biding. 

And, as along the way he jogs, 

He'd feel a kindly nuzzle 
Of comfort from his yellow dog's 

Mute but expressive muzzle. 

"Eover" had kept his master warm, 
And felt the pinch of stint or 

Starvation through each night of storm 
In that Canadian winter. 

And now they've almost reached the goal; 

Another day will bring them 
To Watertown, where everv soul 

With loving arms will ring them. 

When, all at once, the dog was gone. 
And Crnfis was broken-hearted — 

He had not felt so much alone 
Since first from home he started. 

The waving tail, the eag-er bark. 
The cA^es of brov/n affection, 

The sense that led him in the dark 
And found the lost direction. 



VERSES. 143 

And tliat was what had ailed the beast; 

He felt the force of homing — 
The power that moves the very least 

Of birds, and sets them roaming. 

And so across the hills he sped, 

As sure as hawks in Norway, 
Until he struck the path that led 

Straight to his master's doorway. 

The wife and children round him fall. 

Some mystery divining. 
While "Rover ' tries to tell them all 

With sympathetic whining. 

'^Children," she said, "your father sure 

Will be at home to-morrow, 
Or God has called us to endure 

The bitterest of sorrow." 

And when the morning came, and she 
In warm embraces wrapped him, 

All Watertown had come to see 
And welcome home their Captain. 



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